Clockwork
by HoistTheColours
Summary: Upon stumbling into an abandoned apartment building, the Joker encounters a little girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Clockwork**

_**Author's Notes:**__ I created this story so I could delve deeper into a side of the Joker that people don't see as often, if ever, in the movie or in the comics. I wanted to present the Joker with a situation that his conscience (what little goodness of it is left) would really struggle with. With that being said, I hope to accomplish all this while still keeping the Joker as in character as much as I possibly can. Reviews are welcomed, and I hope you enjoy reading._

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**Chapter One**

The Joker ambled up the steps to the rundown and abandoned apartment complex, his long legs stretching over two steps at a time. Above him, a full moon burned brightly, its white rays reflecting off the pitch black harbor water behind him and glittering off the waves. The tide lapped gently against the loading docks, the noise accompanied by the sound of cars gliding against the pavement from further inside the city of Gotham.

The fog was cold and heavier than usual tonight, and it enveloped the Narrows and hung over the harbor in a thick blanket of mist. The frosty, winter night air pushed the Joker's purple coattails behind him as he finished his climb up the steps, fresh snow crunching beneath his shoes. Small puffs of breath escaped from his mouth as he exhaled, the air around him cold and icy as he moved to wrap his gloved hand around the cool knob of the door.

Giving one last glance behind him before stepping inside the building, he pushed the door open halfway and let his eyes sweep over the inside. The building was dark and definitely unoccupied, by the looks of it. He licked his chapped lips and stepped over the threshold, pushing the door open wider for further inspection, the hinges creaking with an eerie squeal in protest.

Pale moonlight instantly flooded the room, moonbeams falling over the broken furniture that was scattered across the floor. The place smelt of cigarette smoke, dust, and rotting wood; clearly not the most pleasant smell, but it didn't deter him.

It was still too dark to see clearly, so he moved farther into the living room, unmindful of the shards and bits of broken glass that littered the floor. He went over to the large bay window that overlooked the front of the house and into the harbor. Without further thought, he ripped down the heavy floral drapes, sending dust and snow particles scattering as more moonlight flooded into the room. The plastic pole that the curtains had been hanging on came crashing to the floor along with the curtains, falling to the carpet with a dull thud.

Turning away from the window, the Joker could now better examine the apartment.

The couch to the right side of him was missing some of its cushions, and the brown and green argyle striped fabric was torn and shredded, as if someone had repeatedly taken a knife to it. Across from the couch was an old television set that was lying on its side on the floor, its screen partially smashed in the center and fanning out in spider-webbed cracks, giving it the appearance someone had hit it with a baseball bat. There were old papers and ripped covers from books strewn all across the poorly carpeted floor, accompanied by large shards of glass from broken lamps or vases. The red brick walls looked old and weathered, dust inhabiting every crack and groove in the plaster. To top everything off, a light dusting of snow covered the objects strewn across the room, the snow having been most likely blown in through some broken window.

Beyond the living room lay a small kitchen, its remains much the same as the room before it. The yellow-stained linoleum floor was cracked in places and missing tiles in others. Cabinet doors were wide open while some were hanging limply off their hinges. The refrigerator was missing its freezer door, and the oven stove top next to it was charred black, as if someone had burnt one too many a meal there.

A small, round table rested in the center of the kitchen and was surrounded by chairs that were missing two or more legs, leaving them to lie brokenly on the floor. Cracked china plates and cups had been dumped carelessly in the sink, gold rose petals adorning the rim of the plates and glaring harshly at him in the moonlight.

The Joker clucked his tongue in distaste at the mess before him as he turned away from the room and began to saunter up the stairwell, the worn wood creaking beneath his steps. At the top of the stairs, the moonlight shone even more brightly through the broken windows that were in the various rooms. He glanced down the hallway and his eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise when he found that it was extremely long. Someone had apparently knocked down a couple of walls, meaning that he could now access the upstairs of all the adjoining next-door apartments without actually having to leave the one he was in now.

_Splendid._

As he made his way down the green, carpeted hallway, he briefly glanced into each room as he passed, looking for anything of interest as he moved down the hall. He twirled his switchblade loosely in his right hand, always ready for use if he needed it. He doubted anybody was actually living here though, homeless or not. The foundation beneath the building was most definitely crumbling, and on the whole the place looked decrepit and worn. The Joker figured that surely no one was crazy enough to stay in a place like this—which is why it was perfect for him. He was tired of sleeping in the old brown Sedan he had been living in for the past three months since his escape from Arkham. The backseat wasn't long enough for him to fully stretch his legs out, and the driver's seat only reclined back so far.

With that thought in mind, the Joker decided that this was definitely the place to set up camp, at least until he could find better digs. All the rooms thus far were empty, minus the occasional bed or dresser, meaning that the place was definitely unoccupied and therefore about to be occupied by himself.

As he neared the end of the hall, humming an upbeat and nameless tune, he began mentally planning on how he was going to spruce the place up. First, he would need to put caution tape over the front door, that way no one would even think about entering. And then he'd have to set some traps at the front door, too, just in case any adolescent young teenagers or the like decided to get cocky and break in.

Ah yes, he'd also need a lock for the door as well—seeing as how the door had opened with ease upon his arrival. He'd need to barricade off all the other doors to the adjoining apartments too so no one could come upstairs through those apartments. The windows would need to be boarded up as well, and running water would be nice if the place didn't already have it. He'd also need to decorate too, of course. He had lots of newspaper clippings about the Bat Boy and other things to adorn the walls with.

_So much to do, so little time_, he mused absently.

As he was about to finally near the end of the long hallway, he happened to notice that one of the many bedroom doors was closed, which he thought was rather odd because the rest were left unhinged or wide open. Still humming as he neared the door, the sound of pattering feet from inside the room suddenly met his ears. His humming immediately paused and he frowned, halting his movements and listening intently. He knew he had _not _just imagined that sound.

Still frowning, he took a tentative step forward. Just as he was about to place his hand over the knob of the closed door, he heard a small and decidedly excited voice from inside.

"_Mommy_?"

_What the_—?

The door swung wide open then, hitting the brick wall behind it and bouncing slightly from its momentum. Inside, a little girl stood with an expectant smile on her face, her eyes wide with what the Joker assumed to be hopefulness.

Just as quickly as it had come, however, the little girl's smile vanished, noticing that the person who now stood before her was definitely _not_ who she had been expecting.

The Joker stood tall and looming in the doorway, looking down at the small girl with interest as a pleasant smile slowly spread over his features. She looked to be only three or four of age; her tiny, thin frame was clad in a short-sleeved, knee-length blue cotton dress with tiny sneakers adorning her feet. She had a mass of long, tangled blonde hair that was falling from a poorly put up ponytail, and a backpack with dirty, mustard yellow straps weighed down heavily upon her small shoulders.

The girl was visibly shaking, either from the cold or because she was frightened out of her mind, he couldn't decipher which. A cold breeze blew in through the open window across the room, and the snow had just begun to fall again as the two stared at each other. Small white flakes flittered in through the window and landed on the floor around them. The room was pale and silent.

The biggest and brightest green eyes the Joker had ever seen stared up at him in an expression that could only be read as confusion, and he smiled as he dared to step closer. The girl backed up awkwardly as he closed the door and entered further. Her eyes freely roamed up his tall frame as her brows furrowed together.

"Well hello there, sweethear_t_." He popped the 't' in exasperation as he bent down in front of the girl, placing his hands on his thighs in front of him and leaning on his haunches. "What's your name?" he asked in a voice as pleasant as he could muster. He didn't want to scare her away_ just_ yet.

The Joker searched the girl's face expectantly as her bright green eyes glittered from under her dark lashes. She drank in his sunken-in eyes that were rimmed all the way to his brows with black greasepaint, and his face that was smeared in white. Her eyes wandered over everything from his lips and jagged scars that were painted a bloody, brilliant red, all the way to his dark purple pantsuit and his greasy, green-faded hair.

The clown worked his mouth in impatience at the girl's inability to answer. "So… ?" he prodded, his eyes never leaving her face.

The girl in question bit her lip. "Taylor," she replied shyly, her voice small and _so_ incredibly sweet sounding to the Joker's ears. He hadn't heard a voice like that spoken directly to him in so long. She sounded so… _innocent_. He smirked.

She was staring up at him warily now, her head cocked to the side as she watched him, her eyes locking onto his dark brown orbs as if she were unsure of what to think of the man in front of her.

"Taylo_r_… " the Joker repeated, drawing out the 'r' and testing the word for himself. He swiped his tongue along the corner of his mouth and shifted closer to her. "What a pretty name." He grinned at her as the little girl ducked her head and blushed, the moonlight illuminating the pink that crept up her cheeks.

He wanted to laugh aloud at her ridiculous bashfulness. Didn't she know who he was? He was _the Joker_, a merciless, psychopathic _killer_, and she was _blushing_ before him because he had just carelessly thrown a compliment at her. Obviously, she didn't watch the news much.

The girl's head rose and her eyes met his again. She stared at him with interest, as if he were a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together. They looked at each other evenly for several seconds, neither one blinking until suddenly, the little girl spoke, leaning in close as if she were whispering to him a deep, dark secret.

"Why are you dressed like a clown?" she whispered timidly, afraid that she might offend him with her question, but unable to contain her curiosity nonetheless.

The Joker let a large smile spread over his features, his dark eyes dancing with laughter and genuine amusement of the likes he hadn't felt in quite a while. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and his eyes darted to the ceiling before returning to meet hers.

"Why no_t_… dress like a clown?" he asked, his smile now gone and his expression serious.

The girl seemed thoughtful as she pondered this. "I don't know," she replied quietly, the end of her sentence fading as she waited his reply.

But instead of replying, he simply stared at her with interest, his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed. "Where's your mommy?" he asked her, his tone devoid of emotion. The girl had obviously been expecting her when he had arrived. Would she be coming back soon?

Taylor shrugged, one of the straps from her backpack sliding off her shoulder. "I don't know," she replied sadly, her brows forming a crease between her eyes and her gaze falling to the carpet. "She told me to wait here until she got back." Her small voice was a mere whisper when she spoke, and she balled her tiny hand into a fist, moving to tiredly rub her eyes with it. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, watching her closely.

The girl lowered her gaze and counted on her fingers. "Two days," she replied after a moment of careful consideration.

The Joker processed this information as he watched her with interest, his eyes narrowed into slits as he sized her up. The girl obviously hadn't realized it yet, but he was guessing that she had probably been abandoned by her mother. Who leaves a small child completely _alone_ in a deserted apartment complex, and dead in the middle of winter_, _no less?

Running his tongue along the inside of his mouth, tonguing at his scars, the Joker's dark eyes wandered briefly around the room, taking note of the twin bed pushed up against the wall, and the random cardboard boxes that had been dumped in the opposite corner of the room.

His eyes eventually wandered back to Taylor. "Who's tha_t_?" He motioned with his gloved hand towards the stuffed object that was clutched in her hand.

Instinctively, Taylor's palm curled around the object's arm, tightening her grasp. "Oh… this is Teddy," she said, slowly finding her voice. "My… my daddy got him for me for Christmas before he left." The Joker watched as she turned her head downward to look at the bear with adoration, as if it were some sort of angel sent by God.

Watching the seriousness of the little girl's face as she looked at the bear, the Joker had the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, but he managed to contain himself and instead pressed his lips together as he watched her pat the bear's head lovingly. Turning her own head to face the Joker, she took notice of the peculiar look on his face and quickly spoke.

"Don't worry," she began, "Teddy likes meeting new friends," she offered reassuringly, but also carefully and slowly, as if she were picking out her words with the utmost caution so as not to offend him. She was smart.

She bit her lip shyly as looked up at him and again they stared at each other for a few more seconds, silently contemplating each other and each other's possible motives. The Joker could not help but take note that girl didn't seem afraid of him. Sure, she was apprehensive and maybe a little frightened, but that was natural for a child. In truth though, he was just _slightly_ intrigued by the way she looked at him. She held his gaze longer than most adults would, yet she still was shy enough to look away when she was embarrassed.

As the Joker watched her, he noticed that her eyes had shifted downwards towards his right hand—the hand that was currently holding his switchblade. Taylor stared sideways at, watching it as if it were a deadly viper that could strike at any moment. She took a tentative step backwards.

He dropped his eyes down to his hand and stared at the knife, watching as the moonlight pouring in through the window ricocheted off the blade and made it gleam fiercely.

For a moment, he simply stared at it. Was he going to kill her? He'd never actually killed someone her age before—at least not _deliberately_. Why was he even asking himself that question in the first place? He killed hundreds of people daily without a second thought to it. It was almost second nature for him to kill someone who annoyed him or just got in his way. What difference did _age_ make?

But what was he going to do with her if he didn't kill her? She certainly couldn't stay here. That was simply out of the question. He didn't have the time or obviously the desire to take care of and feed some random little homeless girl. He had buildings to explode, faces to carve, games to play, and a certain bat friend to bring out of hiding; he couldn't—_wouldn't_—encumber or burden himself with some little child.

The Joker clicked the switchblade shut in one swift motion, making Taylor jump, and then pocketed it, the girl's attention immediately returning to his face.

She swallowed thickly, her eyes still locked onto the spot where his knife had disappeared. "Do—do you know when my mommy is coming home?" Her small voice was barely audible and her large eyes were filled with hopefulness. "She promised me she'd come back soon," she added in quiet whisper, speaking half to him and half to herself.

He sighed dramatically and Taylor's eyes shifted back up towards him at the sound. Shifting on his haunches, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and moved closer to the girl, his hands on his thighs. "I don't thin_k_… mommy is going to uh, be here… for a while."

Taylor's hopeful expression vanished and her small shoulders sagged dejectedly, Teddy falling limply at her side. "Oh." Her brows scrunched together in confusion as if she didn't understand what had just been said. She lowered her head from his gaze then and stared at the carpet. The Joker watched as her eyelashes fluttered wildly against her pale, dirt-stained cheeks. She looked like she was about to cry.

_Oh, fuck, _the Joker thought exasperatedly_. _Fearing that she would burst into tears or screams or throwing _some_ sort of temper tantrum, he quickly shifted again and leaned in closer, dipping his head low so he could look up at her face that she had bowed from his gaze.

"Hey," he whispered quickly, "are ya hungry?" he asked, searching her eyes closely.

Her head snapped up immediately and her green eyes brightened in what he assumed was surprise.

_Aha._

He nodded once and swiped his tongue along the corner of his mouth as he rose to his feet, his knees popping in the process. "Come on." He motioned for Taylor to follow him as he turned away from her and opened the door.

When he didn't hear any movement behind him, he frowned, turning back to face Taylor, only to see that she hadn't moved. He gave her a quizzical look and she bit her lip.

"Mommy said I ha—have to stay in here." She looked up at the Joker and winced as if she were expecting him to berate her or start yelling.

Instead, he smacked his lips together, producing a sharp popping noise. "Ya know," he began, opening the door wider and raising his brows as he glanced out into the empty hallway, "if you don't eat you'll _starve_." He turned back to look pointedly at her, working his mouth slightly. "And we don't want _that_, do we, doll face?"

The girl frowned and look towards Teddy as if he'd have an answer for her. She then slowly turned her head to look up at the Joker still standing in the doorway. "Teddy_ is_ kind of hungry," she offered, pulling her bear to her chest and clutching it against her.

The Joker smirked and made a motion with his head for her to follow him once again. He made his way back down the lengthy hallway and heard Taylor's tiny footfalls distantly behind him, her small legs unable to match his long strides. Once he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he turned to look back at her only to see that she was just starting to come down the steps. Her hand was wrapped tightly around the wooden railing and she was slowly taking one step at a time, being careful as to not fall. She continued this procedure for half her trip down the stairway. On the seventh step, she glanced up to see the Joker observing her, a slightly amused expression on his face.

Mistaking his look for impatience, Taylor quickly plopped down on her bottom and slid down each step, both legs out in front of her and bent at the knees. Once she reached the last step the Joker started to make his way towards the kitchen. He was stopped short, however, when she let out a small grunt, trying to get his attention.

She was still standing on the last step, her eyes locked onto the floor.

_Oh._

Large shards of broken glass littered the floor and Taylor was obviously afraid to step on them, even with her sneakers on.

He couldn't believe he was about to do this. Sighing exasperatedly, he trudged back towards her and picked her up under her arms, holding her far out in front of him at arm's length and awkwardly carrying her across the room and into the kitchen.

He set her down on the floor when they entered and then moved about the kitchen, loudly flinging open cupboards and drawers, searching for any kind of food. He couldn't believe he had offered her food when he himself didn't even have any. At least she wasn't crying though, else he might have to dispose of her the not-so-fun-way. Well, not fun for her, anyway.

As he searched through the cupboards, unceremoniously knocking some of the doors off their hinges, he wondered vaguely when the girl had last eaten. She looked thin, like she hadn't had a good meal since birth, and her cheeks were hollowed out and her arms and legs practically as thin as the legs of a metal fold-up chair.

The insides of the cabinets were dark, and the Joker had to run his hands over the insides to feel for any objects, his fingernails scraping against the wood.

Taylor stood motionless in the doorway as she watched the Joker with rapt attention, her backpack still hanging heavily on her shoulders behind her and Teddy still plastered against her chest.

Biting her lip, she slowly turned from him and went farther into the room. Trudging over to the small round table in the center of the kitchen, she struggled to pick up one of the chairs that were lying on the floor next to it. Fortunately for her, the one she picked up had four legs. She sat it upright and then found another one and set that upright too while the Joker remained in front of her, still searching through the cupboards. She carefully placed Teddy on the first chair and then with much difficulty, finally climbed up into the second one, seating herself in front of the table.

_Aha. _The Joker pulled out a rumbled, purple cereal box from deep inside a corner cupboard and then finally turned to face the little girl.

She was sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly across her lap and her bear plopped up crookedly on the seat next to her, watching the Joker with beady, black eyes.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to double over in laughter at the absurdity of the situation or start throwing knives.

Why was he doing this again?

The girl was eyeing the box the Joker had in his hands with interest as he trudged towards her. "Here," he grumbled, setting the box on the table in front of her.

Taylor stared at it for a minute, her eyes lingering on the sunshine's yellow, smiley face, before slowly retracting the box from the table, holding it awkwardly in her lap as she dug her hand around inside. Pulling out a handful of flakes and raisins, she put them on the table in front of her and then hungrily shoved a handful of flakes in her mouth, some falling out of her mouth and down her chin, landing back in the box that was seated on her lap.

The Joker watched her as she crunched and chewed contentedly, dangling her small legs that weren't even close to reaching the floor. He opened his mouth to speak when he was suddenly distracted by the sound of police sirens. Frowning, he left the kitchen and went into the living room, moving towards the bay window at the front of the house that overlooked the street and the harbor beyond.

He had just made it to the window as a police car went speeding by in front of the apartment, its red and blue sirens flashing and wailing, and the faint wording of _GCPD_ on the side of the car a blur as it drove by.

_Hmm._

He wondered at first if the police were chasing after Batman, but then quickly dismissed the idea. Even though Batman was "wanted," the police had bigger fish to catch. And since Batman was technically "helping" the city, he wasn't really Gotham's biggest threat at the moment. Granted, he had supposedly murdered Harvey Dent, but the Joker didn't buy that for a second. He knew that the Batman refused to kill, it was his _one rule_, after all—which was why the Joker was still alive.

He wondered what the Batboy was doing right now. Was he out saving the city, fighting crime and being a secret hero… or was he at home, sleeping soundly? Did Batman even have a home? Did he have a family, too? Did he have a wife who tossed and turned at night, anxiously awaiting his return while he fought crime on the dirty streets of Gotham?

Did Batman have… _kids_?

The Joker smirked at that thought, picturing a little boy running around with a black trash bag tied around the back of his neck as a makeshift cape and a toy cowl strapped proudly to his head. What a sight _that_ would be.

_And speaking of kids…._

What was he going to do with Taylor? She couldn't stay here. He didn't… _want_ her there. Since he wasn't going to kill her—she was such a nice kid, amusingly innocent, really, and uncorrupted by the troubles of the world. He figured she was probably one of the few people in Gotham who actually _deserved_ to live.

He decided he could dump her at the nearest daycare. They'd figure out to do with her from there. At least then she'd be safe—and off his hands.

It would work out perfectly. Tomorrow morning she'd be out of his hands and the Joker could finally worry about 'sprucing' up his new place and planning his next attack on Gotham.

The Joker felt somewhat more relaxed now that he didn't have such trifling matters to worry about, and he quickly settled back into his normal train of thoughts.

His plan would be _big_, that much was for certain. It would be bigger and more elaborate than that whole stint with Harvey Dent had been. He was going to bring this pitiful excuse for a city down on its knees… and they could suck him while they were at it for all he cared.

Outside, the snow was still falling in the dark, and it glistened sharply as the moonlight shone upon it. A dog was barking far off in the distance, the noise bringing the Joker out of his thoughts after having been staring silently out the window.

He finally turned around to look back at Taylor, only to see that her head was propped up on the table in front of her and that she was fast asleep. As he neared, he noticed that 'Teddy' had a pile of raisins in front of him. He couldn't help the almost confused, half-grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Either Taylor didn't like raisins or she really expected her bear to eat them.

The Joker took the cereal box off her lap and put it on the table. Swiping his tongue across his lips, he easily hoisted her light-as-a-feather body up off the chair and into his arms, holding her against his chest while her head naturally found rest on his shoulder. Well that was… unexpected. He turned to leave the kitchen and then remembered her bear. Sighing exasperatedly, he picked the animal up by its ear and trudged through the living room to make his way back up the stairs.

Frowning as he climbed the stairs, the Joker couldn't help but think that he had never... _held_ someone in his arms before, not like this, and not that he could remember, anyway. The simple action stirred the strangest emotions within him. He felt… awkward, which was a sensation that was uncommon and definitely foreign. He felt… disconnected, out of character, and weirdly misplaced, like he wasn't supposed to be doing this. And in a way, he really wasn't. Since when was the last time he actually performed an act of generosity for someone other than himself? He hadn't shown an act of compassion for anybody in _years_, not in this manner, at least. Perhaps he was just over thinking things?

Regardless, holding the little girl was an odd sensation, but he pushed those thoughts aside once he found the room where had had first found her. As he entered, he began to carefully remove Taylor's backpack from her shoulders without waking her, letting the object drop to the floor. He leaned over the bed and set her on her back and down onto the mattress, dropping her bear next to her. She stirred only slightly, turning on her side to face him, and curled her small legs underneath her for warmth.

He looked at her then as the moonlight poured through the open window, its pale rays casting its shadow over Taylor's face. Her cheeks were pale and slightly marred with dirt. Her small mouth was parted and she was breathing quietly, her thick lashes fluttering faintly against her cheeks.

He shook his head and then straightened, closing and latching the window so that no more snow would flutter into the room. Making his way out, he closed the door behind him and it shut with a soft click.

"Crazy, crazy, crazy…." he muttered to himself, thinking over how ridiculous this whole situation was.

Wandering only a few more steps down the hall, he discovered another room that had a small, twin-sized mattress, only four doors down from where Taylor slept. He stretched his arms behind his back and grunted, hearing his shoulder blades pop as he entered the room. His muscles felt extremely tight and it felt good to stretch out.

He kicked off his shoes and flopped down onto the stained mattress, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He removed his leather gloves and pocketed them inside his jacket, resting his hands over his abdomen.

The smell of mold and dust permeated from the mattress, but he didn't mind. It was certainly better than sleeping in the car.

After several minutes—his mind still racing as always and his thoughts running rampant—the Joker eventually drifted into a pleasant dreamland filled with explosions, funny jokes, and _bats_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was early the next morning when the Joker was awakened, the sudden and piercing sound of a gunshot going off somewhere in the distance and ringing in his ears. He groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, quickly finding his shoes and putting them on.

The room was still dark, the black, winter sky outside gradually brightening into a dreary morning gray.

As he stood to make his way over to the window, he ran a hand through his greasy curls, ruffling them. Outside, the snow had stopped falling. The harbor water was blanketed with a thick sheet of ice, and the lower halves of the lampposts that lined the street were buried deep in snow.

The Joker ran his tongue along the insides of his mouth as he adjusted his jacket and then moved his hands upward to adjust his tie.

Since he was going to be running a few errands today, he needed to change out of his 'work' suit so he could get things done quickly and without being recognized.

Trudging out of the room and a few steps down the hall, he found a small bedroom where he had seen a dresser the night before, and he quickly searched through the drawers, slamming them shut when he found that they were empty.

Upon searching through several other rooms with dressers and digging through countless empty closets, he finally stumbled upon a decent looking pair of clothing that might actually fit him. He found a dark brown, chestnut-colored pair of slacks, with a matching suit jacket to go along. He also found a plain, black collared dress shirt as well. The fabric looked cheap and slightly worn, but the Joker didn't mind; he wouldn't be wearing this suit much anyway. Now all he needed was a hat to hide his hair. Most of the green dye had faded because he hadn't put any in it for nearly four months, but that was the least of his worries.

He took his new-found prize into the nearest bathroom where he then proceeded to change into the new clothes and remove the greasepaint from his face. It took a solid ten minutes to remove the paint, only because the pipes were frozen and the only water that came out was in small, spastic trickles.

When he was done, his face scrubbed raw and red and wet from having no towel to dry it on, he made his way towards the room where Taylor lay asleep. He, in fact, had not forgotten about her. For reasons unbeknownst to him, she had unwittingly plagued his dreams the entire night, and because of it, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He didn't know why, he didn't want to know why, and he certainly wasn't going to ponder over the subject any longer. Still, he wanted to know if she was still asleep in the room he had left her in the night before.

Trying to discern his deepest thoughts was like trying to look for a needle in a haystack. It was a waste of time. Despite this though, he couldn't help but think to himself that _there was just something about her._Or maybe there was just something about the fact that he had never purposely put himself in such a situation before. If he would have just killed her upon arrival he could have avoided it entirely . . . .

He opened the door a crack and poked his head through, finding that she was still fast asleep, her small lips parted and her breathing coming in heavy, shallow pants. She was shivering slightly from the cold, and it crossed his mind that maybe he should cover her up with his jacket or something—but he didn't. Hadn't he done enough good deeds in the course of one day? He hadn't killed her; for that alone she should be eternally grateful—but then again, the girl didn't even know that he had thought about killing her in the first place.

Making his way downstairs, the Joker went straight outside to the side of the apartment complex where he had parked his car last night. The wind was pushing his curls against his forehead, reminding him how he had forgotten how deliciously cool the wind felt against his bare face. He almost always had his face smeared in white, red, and black greasepaint, and he felt naked and exposed without it. It was an essential he had grown accustomed to, day after day, and being without it always made him feel . . . _normal_. And he didn't like normal. Normal was _boring_, and he couldn't have that—which was why he rarely went without the paint. Things just didn't feel quite right without it. The paint showed the world who he was, without it, he was nothing. Nobody.

Climbing into the driver's seat, he sped off into the empty, snow-covered streets, intent on picking up some pizza for breakfast.

The full moon was still hanging bright in the clear black sky above him, and the glittering stars were fading slowly into the gray sky that was just peeking out over the horizon. The Joker glanced at the green digital numbers on the clock, reading 5:16, and then continued to speed down the winding back alleys of the Narrows, the roads eerily silent and empty as he drove. He traced his tongue over the insides of his cheeks, pondering over how and when he was going to recruit some men to work for him. He had lain fairly low since his break from Arkham, only keeping in contact with the few, select men he trusted most. They would be happy to run errands for him if he so asked, but he didn't trust them enough to reveal his location. Not yet.

But he did need more new men. The task of finding new recruits wouldn't be hard, no; the hard part was always finding men whom he could trust—but more important than that, men who would be _reliable_, men who would get the job done without asking so many damn _questions_. That was the problem last time—his men blindly questioning his authority, his plans, his reasoning, and his motives. Couldn't a guy just terrorize a city simply for the sake of wanting to have some _fun_?

The Joker needed men who wouldn't snitch him out, men who wouldn't try to overpower him. Of course, no one could _really_ overpower him—but unfortunately, most learned that lesson the hard way . . . .

However, part of the problem was the Joker himself. The second someone grated on his nerves or got in his way—they would be swiftly taken care of without a second thought. That was how he did things. He didn't have time for insolence.

He saw people as expendable objects that could easily be replaced. There were a lot of desperate, lost souls out there, hanging onto life by barely a thread. And whenever he came along, fully prepared and ready to offer them a second chance at a successful life filled with crime, they were eager to accept. He gave simply one thing, and that was money. People would do anything for a little cash, especially in times like these, when Gotham was on the brink of financial collapse.

_Ha. Money._ That was all people cared about these days. _Money, money, money, money, money._People were greedy little things, weren't they? That's all anyone worked for. People spent their whole worthless, pitiful lives working to earn a little green piece of paper with a face stamped on it. Day after day after boring day. Life was so _dull_ living that way.

The Joker didn't care about money. Money was worthless to him; money would only get you so far in life. Money would ensnare you into a tangled web of greed and lust, choke you until you were sputtering for breath and couldn't breathe, and then consume you whole before you even knew what was happening. Lives were ruined because of money. People spent more money than they had and lived the rest of their lives trying to pay it off. People spent hundreds upon thousands of dollars on products they wouldn't use or would forget about in a year. And then there were the people who gambled . . . the people who got in _deep_with the sharks.

And he certainly knew a lot about that.

Yes, it was safe to say that money _most definitely_ ruined lives. He would know.

Fifteen minutes later, his mind still tumbling with thoughts and ideas, the Joker arrived at a small, 24-hour pizza place. He parked the car by the curb and grabbed his handgun that was lying on the passenger seat next to him, stuffing the object inside the back of his pants, where it was hidden by his jacket. Before exiting the car, he stretched his arm blindly into the backseat, groping for the old, tattered navy blue baseball cap he knew was back there. He placed the hat on his head and tucked his hair beneath it, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror.

He flashed a yellow smile, scars pulling taut. _Handsome_.

Upon entering the small brick building, he realized after a moment that no one was even around. Raising his brows in surprise at his own luck, he casually glanced back behind the counter to notice that the back door was wide open, letting in the cool winter air. Whoever was supposed to be working was probably out back having a smoke.

He smirked as he casually he leaned over the counter, spotting several pizza boxes that were stacked on a rolling shelf in the back. Without a second thought, he nimbly slid over the countertop and grabbed three boxes—still warm—and stuffed them under his arm.

As he hopped back over the counter, he noticed a refrigerator of sodas against the wall, and he sauntered over to it, extracting two bottles of some kind of purple soda. Grape flavored, most likely.

It took little time to get back to the apartment. The sky was beginning to lighten into a dull gray and the sun was waking, making the snow that was piled high on the side of the road glisten in the early light.

Once he reached the apartment, he parked at the side of the building and, along with the pizzas and two soda bottles, also carried inside a small box of his belongings—various knives and guns, an extra set of leather gloves, countless stolen cell phones, decks upon decks of Joker playing cards, newspaper clippings, and other small, random objects.

Inside, he went straight to the kitchen deposited everything onto the table, removing his baseball cap as well. He ruffled out his wavy hair with one hand and opened one of the pizza boxes with the other, ripping off a large slice while two others followed after it. The pizza was only lukewarm, but the Joker couldn't really do anything about that—the microwave looked as if a large boulder had fallen on top of it, and the oven wasn't much better, with various wires strung out of its back.

As he was working on his third slice, he suddenly heard a small crunch of glass from behind him. He spun on his heel, his eyes lowering to see the little girl standing by the stairwell, watching him with curious eyes.

"Morning _sunshine_," he greeted her with a wide grin, his voice high and nasally as he tore off a bite from his third slice, chewing with an open mouth. "Hungry?"

Taylor nodded her head and then timidly stepped forward, slowly making her way into the kitchen. The Joker's eyes followed her as she moved to take a seat in the chair she had sat in the night before.

He raised his brows in quiet amusement as he watched her struggle to climb into the chair with much difficulty, finally seating herself upright. She then stretched out her small arms to reach for the pizza box on the other side of the table, but she couldn't quite reach it.

Without taking his eyes off her, he ripped off a large slice for her and tossed it on the table in front of her, as if he were throwing a dog a bone.

Taylor sleepily peeked up at him from under her lashes, and then bashfully looked away when she caught him staring at her. She instead moved her attention to the pizza slice in front of her, and, pulling it down from the table, took an eager bite. She was starving.

The Joker finished his pizza and wiped his hands on his jacket. Uncapping the soda bottle next, he downed the whole thing in one large gulp.

"_Ahhh_." He sighed in exasperated satisfaction and turned away from the kitchen, moving into the living room.

Glancing over the various objects strewn over the floor, he pushed them aside with his foot as he made a clear pathway to the television. He checked to make sure it was plugged in before turning it on, kneeling in front of the box to upright it from its lying position on the floor.

"Come on, come on come on," he mumbled, waiting for the TV to come to life.

Static filled the room.

He squinted his eyes in annoyance and toyed around with the broken antenna, bending it left and right until finally the signal was strong enough for something to come in.

The screen came blaring to life, showcasing an obnoxious yellow sponge who was singing loudly. The Joker made a noise of distaste and turned down the volume. Behind him, he heard a chair scrape against the floor and turned to see Taylor craning her neck to get a better look at the television, her eyes wide with interest.

Narrowing his own eyes, he turned back to the TV and quickly flipped through the channels, searching for the news. Taylor's disappointed sigh did not escape him.

"Here we go," he mumbled when he landed on GCN.

A weatherman from Gotham City News was forecasting highs in the upper 20s, with heavy snow on and off all week. At the bottom of the screen was a listing of public buildings and schools that had been closed in the surrounding area due to the ice and snow-covered roads.

The Joker grumbled and waited impatiently for the weather forecaster to be over so they could get to the _real _news. He hadn't heard anything of interest about the Batboy in a while and he was _dying_for some information. After Batman had allegedly "murdered" Harvey Dent, the GPD were pursuing Batman much harder than they had been before. The Dark Knight had killed Gotham's very own White Knight; it was a crime that could not go unpunished, even if before the murder the Batman had been bringing criminals to justice. Not that that mattered anymore; the Joker was more than thrilled that Gotham no longer considered Batman as its very own masked hero who worked under the cover of night and saved the "innocent" civilians. No; not at all. _Now_ Batman was Gotham's very own _villain_, just like _he_ was. And the Joker intended for it to stay that way. He just needed a plan . . . .

Suddenly, the clown felt a small tug on the hem of his jacket. Still kneeling in front of the TV, he cast a sideways glance to notice that the little girl was looking up at him. He raised a brow at her in question and she pulled a soda bottle out from behind her back in response. "Can you open this for me?" she asked in her most tiny voice, her eyes darting between the Joker's dark orbs and the TV in front of them. Biting her lip, she stretched the bottle to him at arm's length.

The Joker mumbled something incoherent, not really paying any attention as his eyes were focused on the news instead. He easily unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle back to her without looking, while Taylor eagerly grabbed it from him, her mouth watering at the thought of drinking the sugary soda.

As the weather forecast finally came to an end, aa well-dressed man seated behind a circular desk in the GCN studio took the screen, a thin stack of white papers laid in front of him.

_"And now in other news, it's no secret that the man convicted of Harvey Dent's murder is none other than the Batman himself, but is it true that the masked vigilante has_left_Gotham?"_

The Joker found his brows rising of their own accord as he stared at the screen in front of him. Now _this _was the kind of thing he had been waiting for. The Batboy had been absent for nearly three months, refusing to show his face ever since he had allegedly murdered Harvey Dent. The Joker wondered if the Batboy's disappearance had anything to do with his own. The Joker knew the police were still looking for him, but since he hadn't done anything to garner the public's attention, everyone warily began to assume that he had left Gotham after his escape from Arkham. _So naïve_, he mused, them thinking that he had left Gotham for good. _As if_. How could he leave his own city? Someone had to take care of the place, after all.

"_We go now to Danielle White for more on this developing story."_

The camera panned to a skinny brunette standing inside the Gotham train station, a middle-aged and poorly dressed man standing next to her.

_"Thanks Jim."_She cleared her throat and adjusted her microphone so it was closer to her mouth_. "Going unnoticed by most citizens, Gotham's crime rate has been stealthily climbing for the past two months, jumping to an unprecedented seventy percent increase in comparison to last winter. Why is this happening? Some say it's because of the death of Harvey Dent that the citizens have lost their faith in Gotham, others, still, say it's because of the Batman's bizarre absence that has stirred criminal activity to the surface once again. The only question is, where has the Batman gone?_

_I'm here with fellow citizen Matthew Riddick, to ask a few questions. Mr. Riddick, what do you make of this sudden turn of events? Is Gotham better off_without_the Batman?"_

Danielle held the microphone in front of Matthew's face. "_You know, I really think we are. Batman claims to be uh, you know, 'helping the city' and all, but if he's really supposed to be doing Gotham any 'favors' then he wouldn't have killed that Harvey guy."_

"_Now Matthew, you understand there's been some speculation circulating that Harvey Dent's murder was an accident, what do you have to say about that?"_

"_Man, I dunno know what really happened the night of Harvey's death and all, but I don't think it was an accident. I think Batman wants to destroy the city—just like that one maniac, that uh_, Joker_."_

"_And where do you suppose the Batman is now? Has he really left the city or is he simply in hiding?"_

"_We don't want a_murderer_protecting our city,"_Matthew's voice began to rise as he gained more confidence. _"If this Batman has got any brains he'll leave Gotham before the cops hunt him down and lock him in Arkham, because that's where the guy belongs, locked up with all the other loony bins."_

Danielle nodded her head as if to conclude his statement._"Well, there you have it, Jim. From downtown Gotham, I'm Danielle White."_

The screen switched back to Jim in the studio._"Thanks Danielle. And while the question of the Batman's whereabouts remains unsolved, we'll have more for you on this developing story when we return right after the break; stay with us."_

The Joker narrowed his eyes at the screen, for the first time not really knowing what to make of the situation. It was true that ever since Batman had murdered Harvey Dent, he had not shown his face publicly and crime had spiked enormously. The latter definitely wasn't a bad thing, the bad part was the Batboy's "disappearance"; that was, of course, assuming that the rumors were true.

_Which they weren't._

The Joker knew him too well. Batman _loved_ Gotham; why else would he have gone through such drastic lengths to protect it? The question wasn't _where_ Batman went, but _why._

What_really _happened the night of Harvey Dent's death was the question he wanted to know. Did the Batboy really have the _guts_ to murder Gotham's Not-So-White Knight?

There were many questions he had about the night of Two Face's murder, and the only way he would get those questions answered was to confront the Batman himself.

_Hm._ He'd have to arrange that.

Unfortunately, however, there were more . . . _pressing_ matters at hand.

He turned his eyes towards the kitchen to find Taylor with her knees on the chair, leaning over the table. Her chin was propped on her hands and her elbows were digging into the table as she stared down curiously into the box of the Joker's belongings. He saw her fingering something inside the box and, thinking it was one of his knifes, he quickly rose to his feet.

"Hey," he barked, watching as Taylor's head instantly snapped up, her face resembling that of a deer caught in the headlights. "Wha_t_ do you think you're _doing_?"

The girl immediately retracted her hand from within the box, her eyes filled with fear as she looked at the Joker.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, her chair scraping against the floor as she moved to crawl out of it. However, as she was pushing her chair back from the table, her arm slipped from the edge of it and swept over the top, accidentally knocking her soda bottle from it in the process.

The contents spilled all over the front of her dress, and the empty plastic bottle clattered to the linoleum floor.

The Joker watched with a blank expression as the girl's eyes slowly rose to meet his own. He was confused when he saw tears threatening to fall from her eyes, her trembling fingers clutching at the soaked hem of her dress.

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, her little chest heaving up and down as she swallowed. "I didn't mean too," she added hastily, her eyes filling with panicked tears as she watched the Joker begin to approach her.

As he neared, his facial expression blank and his eyes unblinking, Taylor became frightened and scrambled out of her chair, hurriedly moving to back away from him. Her green eyes were wide with terror as he advanced towards her. "I promise I won't do it again!" Her voice cracked pathetically in her desperation. Her back hit the cupboards behind her, trapping her between them and the Joker.

As he came even closer, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away from him, her whole body tensing, waiting for the blow she was sure would come.

But instead, the Joker merely crouched in front of her, watching her curiously as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and spilled onto her cheek.

The girl thought he was actually going to . . . hurt her. She thought he was going to _hit_ her. Why would she think that? Sure, he had done some pretty awful things in the span of his life, but how could _she_ know that? Why was she so suddenly afraid that he would harm her? Was it the way he had looked at her when he had caught her with her hand inside his box? He hadn't meant to frighten her—not really, anyway, he just hadn't expected her to be looking through his box of stuff. He didn't like when people touched his things, but he certainly wasn't going to go off the wall about it, at least not at her.

He cocked his head as he reached his hand out to touch the single tear that was rolling down her cheek. His large hand awkwardly brushed it away, smearing the dirt there that had stained her cheek.

Taylor, not expecting the Joker's reaction, cautiously opened her eyes, puzzled. Her gaze shifted uneasily between his eyes and his hands.

He dropped his own gaze to his hands, which were now resting on his thighs. He had hurt a lot of people with those hands. But he knew he wouldn't hurt her. She was a child—a child who couldn't defend herself and would be powerless to stop him. It wouldn't be cruel to hurt her, it'd just be stupid—_pointless_—like kicking a dog when it was already down.

Sweeping his tongue along the corner of his mouth, he tilted his head to glance up at the ceiling, and then returned his gaze back to Taylor, who had pressed herself against the cabinet and was trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

He half smiled at her. "You shouldn't _worry _so much," he said.

And then, abruptly, he stood, leaving the little girl to stare up at his tall frame. He turned his back to her without a word, moving to the kitchen table to shuffle through the items in his box.

Taylor stood panting heavily, her hands splayed against the broken cabinets as she stared at him.

She averted her gaze only when she felt grape soda trickling down her bare legs. She stood with her back against the cabinets in silence while the Joker busied himself with whatever it was he was doing. Taylor watched him, squirming in the uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, she mustered enough courage to approach him, advancing towards him with careful steps. When she was standing beside him, she made a small noise to get his attention.

He looked towards her blankly, almost lazily, and his brows rose in an almost bored manner.

"What." A statement, not a question.

Taylor swallowed. "My—my dress is all . . . sticky."

". . . Yea_h_?" he drawled, as if to say, _so what?_

"Can't you fix it?"

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes, and the Joker sighed in exasperation, dropping the object that was in his hands back into the box. _This is the last fucking thing I do for you,_ he thought grudgingly.

He turned his back towards her and made his way into the living room. For whatever reason, Taylor followed him, and from the strange look he caught in her eye, he guessed it was because she didn't want to be left alone.

He climbed the old, rickety stairs, the girl following several steps behind him but trying to go as fast as her small legs would carry her so she wouldn't lose him.

As she hurriedly took one step at a time, she caught sight of the Joker already at the top of the stairs, turning left down the hall and disappearing out of her line of sight.

The Joker heard a whimper of panic escape from her throat and then the small patter of her feet, moving faster up the stairwell.

He smirked inwardly to himself. One minute she was terrified of him, and then the next she didn't want to let him out of her sight. Could she not make up her mind?

Going into the room where he had first found the girl, he waited impatiently by the door for her to enter. She did so warily, making sure to put plenty of distance between him and herself as she entered. Afterwards, she went straight to her backpack that was lying on the floor next to the bed. She unzipped it, marbles and crayons spilling from the top and sides, before pulling out a dark green dress.

She folded it to her chest and then brought it to him, looking bashful.

The Joker had to refrain from rolling his eyes in his sudden understanding. She wanted him to dress her.

_Do I look like your maid? _

"Can't you, uh, change your_self_?"

Taylor shook her head back and forth, her long ponytail moving behind her. "Mommy always helps me," she said.

The Joker tongued at the inside of his mouth and then rolled his head back, contemplating the situation. Was she _kidding_? Did she _really_ expect him to help her get dressed? Did she want him to change her diaper, too? Surely she didn't still wear one of those . . . .

This was so wrong. Everything about the situation he was in was _wrong_. Everything he was doing for this little girl was putting him so incredibly out of his element. He wasn't her damn _babysitter_.

Smacking his lips together, the Joker resolved to just do it and get it over with; this was, after all, the last thing he was going to be doing for her. After this, it was straight to the orphanage for her, and back to playing mind games with the Batboy and people of Gotham. He would finally be rid of the little girl.

Resolving to the task, he dropped to one knees with a heavy sigh and urged her closer. "Come 'ere."

Taylor bit her lip as she came forward, offering her dress to him as they now stood face-to-face. The Joker made an 'up' motion with his hands, indicating for her to put her arms up. She did without question, and he pulled the dress over her head and off her, discarding it on the floor and leaving her just in her underwear.

Taylor lowered her arms then and let them dangle at her sides as she stared at the floor.

The Joker couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over the girl's thin frame. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, and now hung directly behind him from the window in the bedroom across the hall, warming his back and also illuminating the large, dark purple and blue bruises that were dotted all along the contours of Taylor's stomach, sides, and chest.

He frowned in morbid curiosity and lightly he traced his bare fingers over a bruise that lay along her ribcage. Taylor shrank back only slightly as the pad of his thumb brushed over the discolored mark, his rough skin making goose bumps ripple across her flesh.

"Where'd these come from, hm?" His voice was quiet when he spoke, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to meet hers.

Taylor timidly pushed his hand away and covered her tummy with both arms. "Mommy gets angry sometimes." She squinted from the rays of the sun as she briefly glanced up to meet his gaze.

"And why does mommy get angry sometimes?"

An expression of deep pain crossed her face, and her lashes fluttered wildly, the sunlight making them appear almost golden. "Mommy says I don't listen. She—she says I'm a bad girl." Taylor choked on her last words before she opened her mouth to speak again, her lips barely moving. "I don't mean to be bad," she explained in earnest.

The Joker simply stared at her, for once in his life at a loss for words. He wasn't exactly the type of person to offer sage advice, assuming that this was generally the time that someone _would_ offer advice. Besides, what was he going to tell a four-year old little girl? The common and overused, "everything will be all right" phrase? _Certainly not._

"Up up up," he mumbled after a moment of contemplative silence, again indicating for her to lift her arms as he picked up her green dress from the floor. After some difficulty, he managed to get the item of clothing over her head and slip her arms through the short sleeves. He stood up abruptly then, rising to his full height as Taylor's eyes roamed up his lean frame.

Looking down into her large green eyes, he spoke.

"Time to go."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Notes: **__First and foremost, I'd like to give a special shout out to the author _**Shattered Black Heart** _who was an enormous help to me. Secondly, thanks to __all__ of you for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. And most importantly, thanks for reading._

_On another and entirely different note, I thought it might interest some of you guys to know that the original plotline for this story differed greatly from this current one. Originally, back in chapter one, I had written an elaborate scene where the Joker finds Taylor in a train terminal late at night. While the dialogue was all pretty much the same, the overall setting felt too impromptu for me and lacked a build-up of suspense, which is something I plan to steadily build over the course of this story. Anyway, I just thought I'd let you all know that little tidbit because that's where the original idea for this story stemmed from. I hope you enjoy chapter three._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"Time to go?" Taylor frowned, not understanding. "Where are we going?" Her brows furrowed together as she squinted her green eyes up at him. Behind the Joker, strong rays of morning sunlight poured in through the window, and Taylor moved an arm to forehead to shield her eyes from the sun's glare.

The Joker ran his tongue along his upper row of teeth as he contemplated her question. He couldn't tell her he was taking her to an orphanage, though it was possible she didn't even know what such a thing was. What he really needed to do was convince her that wherever they were going was somewhere she would actually _want_ to go.

He looked back down at her, her arm still shielding part of her green eyes from the sun as she looked up at him patiently, waiting for his reply. His gaze drifted towards the tiny blonde hairs on her arms and the small purple bruises dotted underneath them, the sunlight making the marred skin stand out.

Licking his lips once, he stared unblinkingly into her eyes. "To the uh, the park. You like parks, don't you?"

She thought about his question for a moment, her eyes blankly wandering around the room until her gaze fell upon her teddy bear which was lying on the bed where she had left it earlier that morning. The Joker's eyes followed her as she moved passed him and towards the bed. She stood up on her tiptoes so she could reach over it to grab Teddy. Cradling the bear lovingly in her arms, she turned back towards him.

"The park?" she asked curiously.

He sighed, wishing she'd just hurry up and say "yes."

_It's not like I don't have anything to do today_, he thought sarcastically. He licked the corner of his mouth and shifted his weight to his other foot impatiently.

"Yeah, you know, a par_k_. Swings, slides, monkey bars . . . ." he trailed off, hoping she'd catch on.

Taylor looked pensive for a moment, blinking her eyes thoughtfully. For a second, the Joker thought she would actually agree to go, but suddenly, her countenance changed, her tiny brows furrowing together once more. She shook her head back and forth, clutching her bear tighter to her chest.

"No," she whispered, voice barely audible. She shook her head back and forth again. "No, I . . . I can't."

The Joker tried his best to refrain from growling. He hadn't been expecting for her to be so _difficult._ He sighed through his nose. What kid didn't want to go to the park and play in the snow? Working his mouth sideways in annoyance, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Why no_t_?"

Taylor swallowed and stared at him nervously, sensing his aggravation. "I—I have to wait for my mommy," she told him, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. "She said to stay here an—and wait for her . . . ."

He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, becoming increasingly more irritated as the seconds passed. "_Mommy_," he tried to explain through gritted teeth, "is going to meet you at the park."

Taylor eyed him suspiciously. "She is?"

"Yup-_uh_." He smacked his lips together. "And if we don't leave _now_ she might not _be _there."

Taylor processed this information carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she stared at the floor, the wheels turning rapidly in her head. She shifted and her eyes rose to meet his, eyes darting to the scars stripped of their usual greasepaint on either side of his mouth. "I have to stay," she whispered, "I just have to."

The Joker narrowed his eyes, not feeling a twinge of sympathy for her in the least. Her mother, after all, probably wasn't coming back for her anyway. His jaw tightening in anger, he glared at her. "We are going. To. The. Par_k_." He spoke through gritted teeth, not giving her any time to reply before advancing towards her. Taylor's chest began to heave in panic as she watched the Joker come nearer, her hands becoming hot and clammy as she hugged Teddy tighter to her chest.

"C'mere," he growled.

Now in front of her, the Joker bent down to scoop her up into his arms. If she wouldn't come _willingly_ then he was just going to have to _force_ her to come.

His bare hands brushed underneath her arms as he moved to lift her up off the ground, but before he could do anything further, Taylor gasped. With a burst of fright, she dipped under his arm and dashed for the door, her legs carrying her as fast as she could run.

The Joker felt his jaw slackening in surprise as he watched the end of Taylor's blonde ponytail whip around the corner of the door as she took off down the hallway. With a feral growl, he followed after her.

He had just made it to the doorway when he heard another door slam from farther off down the hall. _She does run fast,_ he thought absently, swiping his tongue along his cracked lips, already moving down the hallway. He made his way in the direction of the stairwell where the loud bang had come from, moving silently down the carpeted hall.

All the other doors along the hallway were open, meaning that the room Taylor was in was pretty obvious. There was only one closed door, right next to the bathroom where the Joker had changed and washed his greasepaint off earlier that morning.

He smiled grimly as he reached the closed door, knowing full well that Taylor was inside. His hand closed around the cool metal of the doorknob, anger and excitement pulsating through his veins all at once. His heart drummed in his chest with sick anticipation as he pushed on the door.

Only to find that it wouldn't budge.

All of his enthusiasm and excitement came to an abrupt halt. Taylor had locked him out of the room. She actually had the _nerve_ to lock him out.

The Joker shook his head back and forth in disbelief, smirking darkly. _You have _no_ idea what you've just done._

"Sweetheart," he crooned, his voice nasally and sickly sweet, "open the _doooor_ . . . ."

In response he was met with silence. He sighed through his nose and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling.

"Come on, baby," he tried again nicely, rocking back on his heels. "I _promise _I won't hurt you," he added, his voice still laced with false endearments as he pressed the flat of his palms against the door.

After another moment of no audible sound or movement, the Joker pressed his ear against the cold, splintered wood of the door, listening.

Nothing. It was as if she wasn't even in there. His coaxing wasn't going to work.

_If that's the way you wanna do things,_ he thought furiously,_ then_ _playtime is officially _over_._

The Joker cleared his throat dramatically and stepped closer to the door, his palms still resting flat against it. "Doll face?" he began in an almost apologetic tone, "I hope you're listening because ah, if you don't open this door in about three seconds, I'm uh, well, _I'm_ going to be opening the door."

The Joker had dropped all pleasantries within his voice and was now once again listening for any sounds moving from within the room.

Again, nothing could be heard.

Oh, she _really _didn't know what she was getting herself into now.

"Okaaay, here we go," he announced, his voice laced with false cheer as he shifted once again to be closer to the door. "One," he began his countdown, glaring at the door in front of him with disgust.

"Two . . . ."

No movement. The Joker sucked in his cheeks, jaw tightening, and narrowed his eyes. "Two and a _half_ . . . ."

No sound.

"_Three_."

He waited only a moment before letting out a short, hoarse laugh, shaking his head back and forth as if he actually regretted what he was about to do.

_Don't say I didn't warn ya . . . ._

With one powerful kick, the door burst open, hitting the wall behind it with a deafening bang. It went bouncing off the wall with its momentum and the Joker caught the edge of it, holding onto it with a strong grasp, his nails digging angrily into the splintered wood and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

His eyes scanned the room quickly, his gaze sweeping over the knocked over bookcase on the far side of the room, the dresser drawers lying on the floor from when he had ransacked them earlier that morning in his search for clothing, and then finally to the closed closet door just opposite him.

_Found ya. _He felt his scars pulling taut and straining tightly against the insides of his cheeks as he grinned.

"Oh where oh _where _could she _be_?" The Joker moved across the room and over to the fallen bookcase, wedging the toe of his shoe underneath a royal blue book. The golden, raised letters on the spine read _Into the Abyss_.

Funny. That was exactly where he wanted to send Taylor at present; that, or Timbuktu, whichever one was closer. He didn't have time to play hide and seek—not with her anyways. With the Batman? Certainly; but not _her._

Pushing the book away with the toe of his boot, he made his way over to the closet door, standing in front of it and narrowing his eyes. "Could she be in _here_?" he prodded, his tone climbing higher with each syllable.

Slowly, he reached out and opened the door, the old, rusted hinges creaking eerily in the silence that followed. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness inside the closet, he spotted Taylor's small frame huddled in the corner, damp and musty smelling cardboard boxes surrounding her.

She was visibly trembling, her knees pulled tight against her chest and her bear squeezed in between them.

"Ah," he smirked, crouching down to rest on his haunches. His arm reached into the closet, and Taylor let out a choked whimper when his hand clasped around her ankle. "_Thereeee_ she is." He smiled grimly, watching as her eyes darted wildly around her, looking for any means of escape.

The Joker's long, slender fingers wrapped around her ankle as he pulled her across the floor and out of the closet until she was sitting in the space between his crouched thighs. Taylor was shaking as she tilted her head nearly straight up to stare into his eyes.

"You know," he began thoughtfully, his gaze wandering towards Taylor's bear as he plucked it from her arms and tossed it to the other side of the room, "I uh, I don't . . . _like it_ . . . when people try to _hide_ from me. It's rather . . . _impolite_."

Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but after a moment she closed it, too terrified to find her voice. While her eyes wandered behind the Joker's head towards the door, she unsuccessfully tried to scoot out from in between his crouched thighs. She grunted as she tried to scramble into a standing position.

"I don't think so."

With a dark grimace, the Joker shoved Taylor backwards so that she lay flat on her back, her head thumping against the carpet. In turn, Taylor let out a strangled and childlike cry of pain while the Joker lowered his hands to the carpet on either side of her head, planting his knees on the floor as he towered above Taylor on all fours.

Heavy and panicked wheezes of breath escaped from her throat as she stared up at the man above her with wide eyes.

His own eyes locked with Taylor's, and the Joker cocked his head sideways and smirked. Hearing Taylor breath so erratically and watching her stare up at him with such fearful eyes was almost . . . _cute._ He liked that he scared her. Her adrenaline was palpable, and it only served to fuel him further.

Taylor, who lay flat on her back, stared up at him with pure terror marking her features, her breath coming in short, shuddering pants. Weakly, she grunted as she strained to sit up once again, intent to get away. But the Joker frowned and pushed her shoulders back down to the floor, taking Taylor off guard with his sudden gentleness. She looked up into his eyes in confusion, the back of her head coming down softly to rest against the carpet as the Joker lowered himself onto his elbows, bringing his face even closer to her own.

Taylor crinkled her nose at the sudden close proximity. The Joker's brown jacket hung loosely from his leaning position, and it billowed at Taylor's sides, making her feel even more trapped than she already was.

The Joker's gaze did not leave hers as he lifted an arm from the floor to reach into the pocket of his trousers.

Taylor's eyes warily followed the movements of his hand as he reached into his pocket and ever-so-slowly produced a small, metal encasement.

In one swift movement, the Joker deftly flicked his wrist. A sharp, pointed blade suddenly protruded from its encasement.

Taylor's eyes grew wide. She may have been only four years old, but she was not so callow as to not know what a knife was, or the danger it could bring. The small girl instantly began to writhe and squirm beneath him. She raised her hands above her head and dug her nails into the carpet, clawing at it as she desperately tried to pull herself away.

"Hey," he whispered. "Shh sh sh shh . . . ." His elbows were still pressed against the carpet as his hands gripped Taylor's small forearms that were raised above her head, effectively pinning them to the floor and stopping her thrashing arms.

Feeling the weight of his favorite switchblade encased within his palm, the Joker knew that he wasn't going to kill her; no, no, no, not _now_. Not after all he'd _done_ for. He only wanted to intimidate her in the hopes of persuading her to leave the house with him willingly. All she needed to do was to cooperate . . . or else she might find the blade of his knife wedged in between her small little lips. He wouldn't kill her, but he certainly didn't care if he damaged her a little, either.

He opened his mouth to speak while his blade came to rest in the crevice behind Taylor's ear. His mouth opened, scars pulling tight—but his words were cut off when Taylor suddenly let out a sharp cry. Frantically, she kicked her legs, successfully hitting the man above her right in the groin.

In response, the Joker let out a strangled "_Oomph_" as his body caved and his back arched, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

That felt . . . so. _Good_.

Taylor whimpered at the sudden change in the Joker's demeanor and quickly scampered out from underneath him, lifting herself up off the floor and scrambling towards the door.

Still on his hands and knees, the Joker craned his head behind him and watched through lidded eyes as Taylor dashed out of the room.

After she disappeared, he faced forward again and shook his head out like a wet dog, his lank, greasy curls flopping around his face. He loved the euphoric feeling that was coursing through him. He lived for those moments of mixed pleasure and pain. It just felt _right, _like he was on his own personal high. Whenever someone did something to him that was supposed to physically hurt him, it had nearly the exact opposite effect. Instead, he felt exhilarated, dangerously aggressive, powerful, and excited. His jumble of emotions coursed rampant and his blood surged through his veins like wildfire. His whole body would go rigid with a raw sort of pleasure that only pain could produce.

Slowly his eyes opened, but the Joker remained on his hands and knees for several more moments, his head bowed and his eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at the carpet. His heart was still hammering against his ribcage in an ecstatic, staccato rhythm and his body still washed with the after-spasms of pleasure.

Further on down the hall, the sound of another door slamming shut met his ears.

Nearly laughing at the absurdity of it all, he lazily pulled himself up from the floor and dusted off his pants. He stood in the doorway and craned his head down the long hallway. The door to Taylor's room was closed and the Joker could only assume that she was hiding under the bed or somewhere equally ridiculous.

The feeling of bliss he had encountered only seconds ago had faded, and the Joker found himself entirely _annoyed_. He hated kids, he really did. All he wanted to do was _help _her, take her some place safe, some place where she'd be out of his way, but then she had to go and put up a fight.

_Oh, screw her._

He rolled his eyes as he turned in the opposite direction of her room and headed down the stairs. He'd figure out what to do with the girl later; maybe he could drop her off somewhere while she was sleeping or something. Right now, though, he needed to devise a plan; a plan that would bring the Batman out of hiding once and for all.

The Joker smiled when he remembered his little conversation with Harv—_Two-Face_—and how he had so _easily _convinced the man that he didn't make plans. "_Do I really look like a guy with a plan_?" he'd asked. Two-Face had been so _gullible_. People in Gotham were too easy to manipulate, like little puppets on strings.

Back in the kitchen, he took the pizza boxes off the table and moved them onto the counter so they would be out of his way. Coming back to the table, he began to sift through the objects in his box of belongings, pushing aside items he didn't need as he dug deeper. As he was searching, his eyes fell upon the pile of raisins on the table. He snorted through his nose, sweeping them to the floor and proceeding with his search.

Eventually he pulled out a large, crumpled-up piece of paper.

As he tongued at the corner of his mouth, he carefully began to unfold it, unfurling and smoothing out any wrinkles as he laid it flat. Its expanse covered the entire width of the tabletop and its edges spilled over the sides.

The Joker smiled grimly as he examined the map of Gotham. The edges were ripped and torn in some places while dark brown splotches of blood dotted others.

He worked his mouth as his eyes wandered across the map, slowly moving his hands over the worn and weathered piece of paper. His fingers danced over Downtown Gotham and traced the routes that lead directly to Wayne Tower.

_Hm._

Now that could be interesting.

What would Batman do if someone were to attack the very backbone that was holding the city together? It wasn't the most original idea, (something like that had been attempted almost two years prior, in fact,) but, nevertheless, the idea did seem appealing in the sense that it might just be bold enough to coax Batman out of hiding and back to the streets of Gotham.

Surely he wouldn't let Gotham fall into the hands of the Joker _that _easily.

But as he thought more about it, the more he came to realize that the people of Gotham probably could function well enough without Wayne Tower. Sure, it was the main power and water supply for miles, but what good would it do if the Joker were to destroy it? People would be without electricity and water for a couple days—but other than that it really wasn't that big of a deal.

No, to bring Batman out of hiding he needed something bigger, something that would be absolutely and utterly brilliant, something _mind boggling _and fantastically chaotic.

The Joker scanned the map in front of him eagerly, his eyes darting left and right and up and down, searching for the perfect—_oh._

Now that_ is_ interesting.

Once again, his gaze strayed, and he was now staring at the dark, shriveled raisins that littered the floor.

Now there was an idea . . . quite a brilliant one too, if he did say so himself. And the best part . . . .

Taylor might not be as useless as the Joker had once thought. In fact, she might just come in _quite_ handy.

The gears for his plan were already churning in his head, and he couldn't help but smile as he thought about how extraordinary the idea was. It was like nothing he had thought of before. He could bring Batman to his_ knees_—in front of all of Gotham, too.

The Joker was still smiling as he moved to grip the edge of the table, applying his weight to his arms as he leaned on them and stared down at the map with a mischievous smile.

_Oh, Gotham_. _It's all over._

With the idea fresh in his mind, he spent the remainder of the day plotting and perfecting his ingenious plan.

It was several hours later and well into the afternoon when the Joker was still thrumming with a contained, restless excitement. It was almost annoying, really, knowing that he couldn't carry out his plan now and instead having to wait. The Joker hated waiting. He prided himself on being a very impatient man. Some things could wait while others could not. This, however, was just one of those things that _had_ to wait, regardless of whether he wanted it to or not. He couldn't jeopardize his plans and carry it out unprepared just because he'd gotten a little antsy. No, he needed to really think this one out. He wasn't a perfectionist, to be sure, but he also wasn't a man who let himself make callow mistakes. He wasn't some idiot criminal who did things on a whim and then wondered afterwards, _how the hell did I get caught?_ Of course, he did do things on a whim, but they were more like . . . _planned_ whims, like a mental three-step guide of what to do. _Blow up the building, get out of the building, make sure car is waiting for quick getaway, and, if not, then improvise. _It was a simple concept and perhaps an even simpler example, but little mental preparations like that could save him trips to Arkham.

He hated that place. He'd been there one time in his life and already he loathed it. Granted, that one time had been for six long months, but, even so, Arkham wasn't a place he wanted to spend an unrequited allot of time in. Solitary was the worst. There was no one to take out his pent-up energy on, no mind's to break and bend but his own, no faces to mutilate, and, worst of all, no sound whatsoever save for his own breathing and erratic, racing thoughts and sleepless nightmares.

Arkham had been nice for the first three months—for once the Joker could unwind and relax and not have to glance over his shoulder every five seconds, wondering if his own men were going to shoot him in the back. Not that he did constantly glance over his shoulder—his thugs were too scared to double cross him—but the thought was always in his mind. In Arkham, though, there was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to do, nothing to say, and nothing to think about. The very idea of it drove him mad.

It was several hours later, well into the afternoon, when the Joker became fed up with the table in the kitchen. It was too small for him to work on and he couldn't see the whole map because its edges were spilling over the side. Trivial, really, but annoying all the same. He needed an office—or at least a room with a bigger table. He stuffed everything back into his box and carried it up the stairs.

Since the walls upstairs had been knocked out, he could easily access the upstairs _and _downstairs of the other, adjoining apartments. But, since he had already seen all the rooms upstairs for the adjoining apartments, he went to one of the downstairs ones instead.

Making his way down the first set of steps he saw, the Joker found that this downstairs was similar to the one next door, minus all the furniture and broken objects strewn across the floor. In fact, the place was almost empty, save for the random pile of blankets in the middle of the floor and an old, decrepit desk that was pushed against the far wall. A rusted, but still-functional swivel chair lay tipped over on its side in front of it.

With his box tucked under one arm, he let his eyes scan the rest of the room as well as the adjoining one. The kitchen was empty and barren of any basic appliances; even the linoleum tiles had been pulled up from the floor, and the walls were standard red brick. All in all, the place was pretty ransacked, but it would do.

Walking over to the wooden desk that was pushed against the far wall, he dropped his box on top of it and it fell to the table with a loud thump, causing dust to scatter. He pulled up the chair from the floor and sat down into it. It creaked in protest from his weight.

Next, he pulled out a stack of newspapers from the box and set them on the table in front of him; a pair of scissors and two colored pencils followed. He set to work then, eagerly unfolding the newspaper before him as his eyes and hands raked over the pages of _The Gotham Times._

He worked ardently for hours, hardly ever looking up from his work and only once stopping to use the bathroom. It wasn't until the sky outside had turned dark that caused the Joker to pause in his work. He irritably eyed the lack of light outside through the bay window on the other side of the room. He couldn't very well work in the dark, seeing as how there were no lamps or overhead lights hanging from the ceiling.

Dropping his pencil to the desk in defeat, he rose from the chair and stretched out his limbs, his body stiff from sitting so long. He went to stand in front of the window, absently fingering the buttons on his suit as he stared out at the blackened night. The sky was almost as clear as glass, and a full, ivory moon hung bright, the black sky devoid of any stars.

The snow on the street and sidewalks surrounding the apartment had frozen long ago, and he considered how fun it would be to take a car out on the iced-over roads, sliding haphazardly across the slick ice. He'd almost gotten himself killed doing that once, back when he was just a teenager itching to drive but lacking a license to do so. He'd stolen his parent's car, picked up some buddies, and took a night drive and eventually wound up in a ditch on the side of the highway.

Well, not _really_, but it did make for a good story. Especially the part where that crazy bus driver stopped on the side of the road to help them but ended up carving their faces with Glasgow grins instead.

Suddenly, a loud crash emerged from the apartment next door, and the Joker's brows furrowed in confusion as his head instinctively snapped towards the sound.

_What was_ that_?_

Licking his lips, he moved back over to the desk and grabbed another knife from his box, pocketing it in his jacket. He then made his way over to the staircase and silently proceeded to climb the stairs. Once at the top, he looked down the hallway and found that it was empty.

_Hmmm._

His tongue traced absently over the insides of his mouth as he pulled out his switchblade. When he flicked his wrist, the sharp_ shink_ of his knife opening echoed throughout the hallway.

All the doors along the narrow corridor were open, allowing the moonlight that was pouring in through the windows to illuminate the long hallway.

Narrowing his eyes, he crept down the hallway and towards the other set of stairs and made sure that they wouldn't creak under his weight. With years of experience and practice, the Joker knew all the right tactics to use and how to evenly distribute weight in order to move stealthily and with quiet ease.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, he peered around the corner, his hand wrapped around the handle of his switchblade while his eyes searched through the darkened room. Seeing no one, he crept farther into the living room, avoiding the shards of broken glass on the floor.

His eyes glazed over the kitchen area where the moonlight was shining in through the window above the sink. He then noticed that one of the chairs that had been previously seated at the table was now pushed up against the counter. His eyebrows furrowing together, he let his eyes wander even lower still. It was then that he noticed Taylor lying flat on her back, sprawled out on the linoleum floor. Her eyes were closed and a large, crimson colored pool surrounded her head.

_Damn it._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The Joker moved farther into the living room and then stopped when he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His jaw was locked tight and a frown marked his features as he stared down at Taylor's eerily still form lying on the floor.

She was bleeding profusely, that much he could tell. Her eyes were closed while her arms lay motionless at her sides. As the Joker looked her over, he grudgingly came to the conclusion that he couldn't very well let her bleed to death—not now anyways. Not after all he'd _done_ for her. Besides, if he was going to use her later, then he'd have to keep her alive long enough in order to do so. He had big plans for her and he wasn't about to let them all go to waste because he refused to help her when she was obviously hurt. Though, the idea of actually helping someone other than himself almost made him laugh—he just didn't . . . do things like that. The only person he cared about was himself—and Batman of course, but that was different.

In an attempt to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all, he narrowed them instead and suddenly clicked the switchblade he had been holding shut, pocketing the object in his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen.

He crouched down at Taylor's side as his eyes glazed over her seemingly lifeless form, watching as the moonlight illuminated her tanned and dirt-stained cheeks. Her long, tangled blonde hair was still in its messy ponytail and was matted with blood, her head surrounded by a pool of the dark substance. Slowly and somewhat hesitantly, he reached out his hand to assess the damage on the back of her head, lifting it from the floor and none-too-gently feeling along the back of it, the pads of his fingers instantly becoming slick with blood.

In response, her long, black lashes ever-so-slowly began to flutter against her cheeks. The Joker watched as her green eyes opened and then began to fill with water. A small, panicked moan of pain ebbed from the back of her throat while her eyes gradually began to open wider, her face contorted in pain as lines creased across her forehead.

Lowering his knees to the floor instead of resting his weight on his haunches, the Joker placed both of his palms onto the floor on either side of her head and lowered his face down over hers. As she struggled to open her eyes, her lashes fluttering wildly against her cheeks, he carefully studied her eyes, his brows furrowing together when he noticed that the black surrounding her irises was abnormally large. _That probably isn't good . . . ._

Her eyes were now wide open and were rolling around in their sockets, blindly searching the blackened room around her, looking for anything steady that her eyes could hold onto. The Joker could only assume that she was disoriented and dizzy, her lashes continuing to flutter helplessly, as if the room was somehow much too bright despite there being hardly any light at all.

As if suddenly noticing that the Joker was leaning over her, her eyes widened immensely, and with a small, raspy moan, she made a weak attempt to twist her body away from him. She couldn't even lift her limbs off the floor.

_She's still scared of me_, the Joker immediately came to realize. Even in her disillusioned state, she still remembered what had happened between them earlier that day, when he had pulled his switchblade on her.

Thinking that he would try to hurt her, she immediately panicked, her eyes brimming with tears as she openly began to cry, half from fear that he would harm her, and half from the pain that was beginning to explode in her head.

Running his tongue along the insides of his cheek in contemplation, he vaguely began to realize that he needed to get her off the floor. The pain was only going to get worse from here on out. Hesitating for only a moment, he slipped his arm underneath the small of her back and wrapped it around her tiny waist. As blood dripped onto the floor from the sudden movement, he placed his other hand at the back of her head, supporting it as he slowly lifted Taylor off the ground as he himself rose to his feet, holding her sideways in his arms.

Without warning, she suddenly let out a shrill scream and arched her back in pain as she was lifted off the floor, both of her hands subconsciously flying to grasp the back of her head in an effort to subdue the pain that was throbbing there.

The Joker's face remained blank and expressionless as his eyes briefly fell to the tiled floor in front of him, noticing that there was a sharp object lying in the sticky pool of blood. Looking closer, he saw that it was a piece of glass from one of the china plates that had been in the sink.

_Perfect,_ he thought sarcastically, immediately hoping that Taylor wasn't going to need stitches. A concussion he could handle, but he wasn't very good when it came to stitching needles through other people's skin, let alone his _own _skin.

Sure enough, there was a broken china plate on the floor just several feet away from where he was standing. Taylor must have had it in her hands when she had fallen off the chair, probably trying to get a slice of pizza.

The small girl abruptly let out another cry of pain as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. Her tiny fingers curled around the Joker's own that were holding the back of her head up.

Deciding on what he should do, he turned on his heel and went into the living room, blood dripping onto the floor as he moved.

Swiping his tongue over the swell of his bottom lip, his eyes roamed over the expanse of the room and suddenly fell on the old, wrangled couch. He carried her over to it while she sobbed loudly in his arms, her face contorted in a painful grimace. The Joker bent down and carefully laid her down onto it, slipping his arm out from underneath the small of her back as he went to straighten himself upright. But before he could, Taylor suddenly let out a sharp cry as both of her hands shot out to grasp the lapels of his jacket, preventing him from standing up straight.

The Joker rolled his eyes in frustration and began to pry her tiny fingers from his jacket. But the task seemed infinitely harder than he thought; she had them curled around there pretty tight. With a short, irritated sigh, he suddenly bent down lower and dropped his face directly above hers, staring into her eyes threateningly. "What do you wan_t_, hm?" His eyes were narrowed coldly while his dark, nasally voice sent goose bumps erupting all across Taylor' arms.

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, only to open them a second later as more heavy tears spilled down her cheeks. She gripped onto the Joker's jacket even tighter, her knuckles turning white from the effort and her palms slick with sweat and her own blood. "It hurts," she moaned weakly, once more squeezing her eyes shut as a sharp, stinging sensation invaded her senses, the back of her skull throbbing painfully. "Please don't go," she begged.

The Joker paused and regarded her silently for a moment, staring at her while her wide eyes pleaded desperately with his own for him not leave her, which she mistakenly thought he was trying to do. Narrowing his eyes at her, he frowned. He didn't understand her behavior. One minute she was terrified of him and the next minute she didn't want him to leave her side. Could she not make up her mind?

Turning his head away from her, he raised his eyes toward the ceiling as he worked his mouth in a frustrated matter, hardly believing what he was about to do. He slipped his arm underneath her back once more and placed his hand at the back of her head. Lifting her up off the couch and then turning around to seat himself down on it, he was now holding the girl in his arms. He then began to gently massage his fingers through her tangled hair, fingering the raw skin of her scalp to make sure that no stray pieces of glass were lodged into her skin. The action sent pain shooting to the back of her skull and she sobbed loudly, coughing and choking through her tears. The Joker continued to thread his fingers through her matted hair, his fingertips already stiff and dry from blood as even more of the red substance coated his fingers. He needed to find something that would stop all this bleeding.

His eyes quickly swept over the expanse of the room, searching for something he could use to clean up all her blood. The room was mostly dark, save for the white streams of moonlight that poured in through the bay window, but even those couldn't reach the far corners and crevices of the room.

Twisting sideways, he looked over the armrest of the couch and spotted a tattered, thin bed sheet that lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

_That will have to do._

As her choked sobs continued to fill the silence of the room, he picked the object up off the ground and bunched it up into a small ball with his free hand while his other hand was still supporting the back of her head. He placed the sheet on the armrest and then proceeded to gently lay Taylor's head there, the rest of her body coming to rest tiredly in his lap. She whimpered in pain at the shift in position and weakly attempted to turn her head sideways, trying to bury her face in the Joker's jacket. He immediately stiffened at the action, unaccustomed to having someone so _intimately_ close to him.

Holding her in his arms—it just didn't feel . . . _right_ to him . . . though he would have been lying to himself if he would have said that it didn't feel strangely _good_. Because it did feel good. It felt good because she wasn't fighting him. She wasn't pushing him away or screaming for help and she wasn't trying to poke his eyeballs out. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had _willingly_ let him hold them in his arms, if there had even ever been a moment in his life such as that.

Taylor's sobs pulled him out of his thoughts, and the Joker couldn't help but watch her intently, somewhat intrigued by the way her green eyes glistened with tears and how her long, wet lashes would stick to her cheeks whenever she blinked. Before he even knew what he was doing, he draped his arm over her waist and squeezed her gently, hesitantly. "Hey . . . hey, sh sh shhh." He whispered gently to her, trying to calm her down.

At the sudden sound of his voice, Taylor's eyes instantly darted to his face and her crying softened. She could hardly see him through her stream of tears and she weakly brushed them away with the back of her hand, her other hand still clutched onto the lapel of his jacket, her knuckles white from gripping the fabric so tightly. Her face streaked with tears, she crinkled her nose as she sniffled loudly and blinked, feeling her wet lashes stick to her cheeks. Letting out a shaky, shuddering breath, she continued to quietly sob as she finally averted her gaze from the Joker's. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he stiffly held her in his arms and stared blankly at her, suddenly realizing once again how _crazy _this was. _He_ was crazy. He was not supposed to be doing this. It all felt wrong. Very, very, very _wrong_.

The Joker reminded himself that he was just trying to keep her alive. That was the _only_ reason why he was taking care of her, as if reminding himself of that would somehow soften the blow that was reality. The fact of the matter was, he, the mass murdering and psychopathic _freak_ . . . was cradling a little girl in his arms . . . and he wasn't attempting to kill her.

The very thought of it was so funny that he almost laughed.

Turning his head away from her, he resolved to stare at the wall on the other side of the room directly across from him, wondering what the Bat would think about all this. He could just imagine him bursting into the room and finding him, the Joker, sitting on the couch with this little girl crying in his arms. Oh, the conclusions he'd probably jump to. Batman would wonder if the girl was his daughter—_as if_—but then he'd quickly dismiss the idea and move onto something else. The Joker could just picture him now, looking all cool and collected while inside his mind was reeling and he was left feeling speechless and confused. His cowl always had a way of masking his real emotions so well, but the Joker had learned to decipher them, the eyes especially. Batman's eyes were like a story, and the Joker could read them perfectly.

Vaguely, the Joker came to realize that Taylor's crying had gradually subsided, and as he looked down at her, he was surprised to find that she was staring up at him intently, her small lips parted as if in awe.

But when his blank gaze met hers, she blushed, heat rising to her cheeks as she turned her head away from him, burying her face in the crook of his arm.

The Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, amused that she was being so shy. No one had ever acted _shy _around him. Nervous and hesitant, sure, but not timid and shy. The concept was something he found almost slightly endearing, but then again she was just a kid, and kids tended to by shy no matter who you were.

Once she had recovered from her small moment of embarrassment, she turned her head back around to look up at the Joker, almost disappointed to find that he was no longer paying attention to her. She tugged lightly on his jacket that she was still clutching, attempting to get the his attention once more. He immediately looked down at her as she looked back up at him, both of their gazes unwavering.

Taylor swallowed thickly, suddenly finding that her throat felt dry and scratchy from crying. She opened her lips to speak but found no sound would come out. The Joker simply looked at her expectantly and she let out a cough that racked her body. "I wanna drink," she whispered quietly, hesitating slightly in her speech, somewhat afraid of how the Joker might react to her request.

He didn't hit her like she half expected him to, nor did he say "get it yourself" like her mother usually did. He simply sighed a bit irritably and licked his dry lips, lifting Taylor up off his lap and then laying her back down on the couch.

He could feel Taylor's eyes on his back as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes roaming over the countertop for any cups of some sort. There was a baby bottle on the counter, one he assumed that belonged to Taylor, and as he walked further into the room, sidestepping the pool of blood on the floor, he picked it up and unscrewed the cap, bringing the bottle over to the sink. He turned the facet on and waited as the water gurgled through the rusted and frozen pipes. It took a while, but finally a small trickle of water spit out from the facet and into the sink. It was water from the Narrows so it probably wasn't very clean, but it would have to do. After filling up the bottle, he screwed the cap back on and carried it into the living room.

As Taylor heard him enter she tried to lift her head up from the armrest of the couch but then cried out in pain and let her head fall back onto the balled-up sheet.

"Don't_ do_ that," he mumbled in an annoyed tone of voice as he neared the side of the couch. He knelt down by her side as her eyes followed his every movement. He dropped the bottle at her side and she weakly took it, her eyes never straying from his face as she brought the bottle to her lips, thirstily sipping up the liquid inside. "Good girl," he said, his voice low. He rose to his feet then and rolled his eyes, moving over to the bay window as Taylor's eyes followed him across the room.

It was snowing again, the harbor water covered in a thick sheet of ice as white flakes continued to fall from the black sky, coating everything in a powdery white.

Suddenly, the Joker felt a tug on his trousers, and he turned his head to look down over his shoulder. Taylor was standing behind him, one of her hands cupped behind her head. He lifted his brow in question at her and she cleared her throat uncomfortably, her eyes downcast. "I . . ." she hesitated, wincing in pain when the sharp stinging at the back of her head resumed, "my hair is yucky," she finished, her tone suggesting that she was slightly embarrassed but mostly apologetic.

He simply raised both brows this time and shook his head as if to say _what do you want me to do about it? _He turned his back on her one more but she once again tugged on his pants.

"_What_?" he snapped.

Taylor shrank back at the tone of his voice, chewing nervously on her bottom lip for a moment. "I need to take a bath."

The Joker's eyes narrowed considerably. "A _what_?"

She shuffled backwards slightly, still wary of him and his possible intentions. "I need to take a bath," she repeated in a small voice, her head lowered as she looked up at the Joker from beneath her lashes. He still looked unconvinced, so she continued on. "Mommy said when I get dirty I have to take a bath."

Well, unfortunately for her, he didn't give a rat's ass about what her mommy said. "I don't do baths."

There was silence for a long moment before Taylor shifted closer to him again, ignoring his former statement. "Can't you . . . put water in the bathtub . . . please?"

The Joker closed his eyes and turned around, facing the window once more as his jaw tightened in anger despite himself. He had kept her alive _this_long, could she not just appreciate that fact and stop causing him trouble? Did she not understand that he didn't want to go out of his way for her? He had already dressed her, damn it, did she really expect him to bathe her, too? Geez, if he would have known how much effort taking care of a kid would be he wouldn't even considered using her for his plan at all. As it happened to be, however, he _did_ need her. She was almost_ too_ perfect for his plan, it certainly would do no good to get rid of her.

But that didn't mean he was going to acquiesce to her every desire and need, either. He'd fill up the bathtub for her, and that was it. No more favors.

Wordlessly, he turned and began to trudge up the stairs, stopping only when he noticed that Taylor wasn't following behind him. "You comin' or what?"

Taylor nodded her head and eagerly scampered up the stairs behind him, still holding a hand to the back of her head. Her wound had stopped bleeding, but it still hurt her terribly and the slight pressure seemed to abate that a bit.

The Joker didn't wait for her to reach the top and instead moved directly into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch upon entering and a dull, mustard-y yellow glow illuminated the small, cramped bathroom. The walls were a faded peach color while frayed, ripped seashell-adorned wallpaper hung loosely off the walls. The sink, toilet, and bathtub had long sense seen better days; the once white porcelain now dirty and yellowed. The silver faucets were rusted and caked in grime and the linoleum floor looked much the same. Thankfully for Taylor, the tub wasn't half bad, and the Joker guessed that it must have been used recently. He turned on the water to its warmest setting and stepped back.

Taylor had entered the small bathroom just as a horribly loud scraping noise surged through the metal pipes hidden in the walls. The Joker turned around to see her covering both ears with the palms of her hands, trying to block out the shrill shriek of water pressure trying to reach the pipes.

After several long moments of the unpleasant scraping noise, it abruptly cut off, leaving silence in its wake. "Aw come _on_," the Joker groaned to himself, hoping that the water wasn't frozen in the pipes. Without warning, he gave the faucet a good, powerful kick.

A stream of water immediately gushed from the faucet, and the Joker smirked to himself triumphantly, obviously pleased with himself. He fixated the stopper in the drain at the bottom of the tub before turning back around to face Taylor.

Only to find that she wasn't there.

His brows furrowed together and he stepped out into the hallway, first looking down the staircase to his left and then back down the long hallway.

"Ohhh doll face," he crooned in his nasally voice, "where'd you gooo?_" _He wasn't running this bathwater for himself, after all . . . .

Taylor's head suddenly popped out of one of the rooms further on down the hallway. When she saw it that it was the Joker who had been calling her, she grinned to herself and excitedly scurried towards him, several shampoo-shaped bottles encased in her arms.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly, glancing up at him only briefly before she squeezed past him to set all her bottles on the rim of the tub. Once she had set them up just the way she wanted them, she turned back around.

He had a strange look on his face and simply eyed her expectantly. "You gonna get in?"

Taylor turned around and dipped a finger into the water. "It's too cold."

The Joker rolled his eyes and moved past her, dropping to his knees by the side of the tub to turn the knob farther left so the water would get warmer. "Satisfied?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved to stand to his feet when Taylor suddenly reached out her hand and grabbed onto his sleeve. His eyes lazily wandered to meet hers, curious as to what she was doing.

"I need help," she said shyly, tugging at her dress.

The Joker internally groaned and shifted on his knees to be closer to her as she lifted up her arms. Wanting to be quick about it, he did it rather roughly, forgetting about the large gash on the back of her head, making Taylor cry out in pain as the dress slipped over her head and brushed against the laceration.

She gently rubbed the back of her head. "Ow."

He discarded her dress on the floor and once again she stood before him in just her white underwear. His gaze briefly wandered down her body as Taylor watched his eyes, wondering what he was thinking as he looked at her. He glanced back up at Taylor's face and briefly met her eyes before he turned off the faucet and abruptly rose to his feet.

Frowning, she folded her arms protectively around her bare stomach. "Where are you going?" Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence and she sounded nervous. He wouldn't leave her by herself, would he?

"Your water's getting cold," he replied, purposely ignoring her question as he turned his back to her and left the room.

Taylor's brow furrowed together as she simply stood by the bathtub, watching him leave as she absentmindedly ran her fingers softly over her bare sides. After a moment and once she was certain that he was gone, she quickly stripped off her underwear and carefully slipped into the warm water. She immediately grabbed one the bottles from the side of the tub and dumped its entire contents into the water. She moved the water around her until the whole tub was filled with soft, soapy bubbles. Once she was satisfied to her liking and she was covered with bubbles up to her shoulders, she began to muse over the Joker.

She didn't quite know what to think of him and wondered why he was even in her house in the first place. Did he know her mother, perhaps?

_Mommy . . . . _

Where was her mother, anyway? As Taylor swirled patterns in the water with the tip of her finger, she wondered why her mother hadn't come back yet. She promised she would be gone for just a couple of hours—but it had been nearly four _days_ now. Her mother had never left her alone for that long.

"_All you are is trouble, you know that? Your daddy left me because of _you_. He couldn't support _you_, so he left _me_. I _loved_ him, and because of you he left." _

"_When you're old enough to take care of yourself, you'll be on your own, and then I can pretend that you never happened."_

"_I wish you were never born . . . ." _

All of her mother's phrases and random snippets of conversations where she would be mumbling to herself all came back to Taylor in a sudden rush, and she frowned confusedly as she dwelled on her mother's words.

Why had she said all those mean things about her? Taylor had tried her best to always be good and to not bother her, but even when she was on her best behavior her mother was _still _always angry at her. Regardless of her mother's attitude, however, Taylor still loved her, and always would, even if her mother would never reciprocate that notion. She thought if she tried hard enough and did all the right things that maybe she just might love her back. So far her planned had failed, but if she kept trying she knew she could make it work. But in order for her plan to work she'd have to see her mother first. She couldn't wait until she got back. _M__aybe she went on a vacation, _she thought to herself. Her mother had always talked about how she hated the city and always wanted to be at the beach. Maybe that's where she went. If that was the case, then she'd be back really soon, Taylor was sure of it.

With thoughts of sandy beaches and pretty pink seashells on her mind, she smiled to herself and sunk deeper into the tub of bubbles. She rubbed the white, foamy substance all over her arms and shoulders, splashing water around her and humming quietly to herself. When she happened to glance upwards, she was surprised to see the Joker leaning against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankle as he simply watched her. She gasped in surprise and tried to sink deeper into the water. She covered herself in bubbles as her cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.

The Joker smirked at her in response, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he said, sounding bored. Taylor watched him as he shrugged out his brown jacket and tossed it into the sink. He then rolled his sleeves up to his forearms and neared the bathtub, kneeling down beside it.

She looked at him confusedly but he ignored her stare. He knew that she probably wasn't going to wash her hair herself, so he resolved that he'd do it and just get it over with. He hadn't planned to do it for her, but then he realize that he couldn't _not_ do it, especially because infection might set in, and when that happened all hell would break lose. He knew better than anyone how bad infections hurt and all the shit that they tended to entail.

Retrieving his knife from his pocket, he brought it near Taylor's head, watching as her eyes widened in fear. "What are you doing?" she cried, shrinking back farther into the tub.

Grabbing onto her shoulder to keep her still, he brought the knife near her hair and slipped the flat of the blade underneath her rubber ponytail holder, effortlessly slicing it in half. Her long, tangled locks tumbled down over her shoulders and stopped mid back, the ends of her hair becoming wet as they dropped into the water.

The Joker reached both of his hands over the side of the tub and put them on her back, feeling the warmth radiating from her soft, wet skin. "Hold still," he ordered quietly, fully concentrating on the task at hand. Her eyes were wide with trepidation as the Joker put one hand on her lower back and the other on her stomach, pushing her backwards until just the back of her head was submersed in water.

Taylor's body instantly went rigid and she screamed aloud, her mouth open in shock as she squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to fall once again. "Stop!" she wailed, struggling to sit up as water splashed around her. Ignoring her, he dipped her head back deeper into the water until all but her face was fully submersed.

He brought her head back up out of the water as tears rolled down her cheek. "It stings," she whimpered, reaching her hand up to gently touch the back of her head. The Joker's eyes roamed over the side of the tub, looking at all the labels on the various bottles she had placed there. One bottle was for a bubble bath—and it was completely empty; one said conditioner, another one was a _hairspray_ can, and the last bottle was baby shampoo.

He grabbed the latter bottle and unscrewed the cap, squeezing some of the substance from the bottle into his hands. The Joker briefly met her gaze before he put his hands in her hair, working the shampoo throughout the long, tangled strands. He made sure that he was extra careful around the large gash at the back of her head, though she still cried throughout the whole process anyway.

As he carefully but quickly lathered the shampoo through her wet locks, Taylor sobbed quietly to herself, her wound stinging painfully whenever water dripped onto it or the Joker's fingers got too close to the raw skin.

Once he was finished, he dipped her head back into the water, much to her cries of protest, and finally rinsed all the soap out of her hair. "Better?" he ventured, raising his brows in question.

Taylor nodded wordlessly and bit her lip as she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, staring down at the bubbles that were slowly starting to disappear in the water. "Does my hair smell pretty now?" she quietly asked.

The Joker couldn't help but grin in genuine amusement, deciding to play along. He placed the flat of his palms against the rim of the tub, leaning closer to her so he could smell her hair. The tip of his nose brushed against her wet locks and he found himself closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. She smelt like vanilla.

_Whoa._

It had truly been _years_since he had ever smelt something so wonderful and pleasant, and he had to stop himself from burying his face in her hair, just for the sheer pleasure of smelling that scent. It reminded him of something, something familiar that couldn't quite put a finger on. "Mmm," he breathed deeply, "very good." He opened his eyes and pulled back, watching as her tiny mouth curved into a small smile.

Taylor fingered a long piece of her hair, inspecting it curiously. "Are you going to take a bath too?"

He pretended to contemplate the question. "Not right now, sweet pea." He gave her a mocking pat on the head and then stood, quickly exiting the room and shutting the door behind him.

Leaving her alone to do whatever she needed to do in private, he made his way down the hallway towards the room he had slept in the night before. Closing the door behind him, he changed back into his regular clothes in the dark, the only source of light being that of the pale moon. As he dressed, he replayed the conversation over in his head, marveling to himself over Taylor's naivety.

_God_, she was so ridiculously innocent it was sickening. He almost wanted to feel sorry for her, for how much she really didn't know. She had so much to learn about the world, so much to realize about people and trust and the many dangers she knew nothing about but was destined to one day face.

She also was rather unique though too, especially for someone her age. She was guarded and didn't give her trust away easily, though if anyone could change that, it most definitely would be him, and he was surely up to the task. She was so young, after all, and she would come to trust him soon enough. She might even be kind of fun to manipulate. She was guarded, yes, but there were so many bad things she didn't know about or understand. There were gruesome, other-worldly horrors she couldn't even begin to imagine, which is where her naivety would come into play. He could make her do whatever he wanted without question, one of the main reasons why she was so important to his plan. Gotham wouldn't even see it coming . . . .

After he had pulled on his pants and was now fully dressed, (minus the greasepaint,) he went straight back to the bathroom across the hall. He could see the yellow light glowing from underneath the door and heard Taylor humming merrily to herself from inside.

He didn't bother knocking, and instead pushed open the door to see her leaning over the side of the tub, her back turned away from him. She was already dressed and wearing a red pair of cotton, footsy pajamas, the kind that zipped all the way up the front.

When she heard him enter she didn't even bother to turn around. "I can't make the water go away!" she said, sounding flustered.

The Joker rolled his eyes and pushed past her, kneeling down to pull the stopper from the drain. The water immediately started emptying out of the tub, gurgling noisily as it got sucked down the drain. Taylor was fascinated. When he turned his head around, she was standing directly next to him, her face only inches from his own. "Where does the water in the bathtub go?" she asked, her eyes searching his interestedly, as if the answer to her question lied therein.

He studied her features from up close for a moment and then frowned, giving her a dubious look. "What kind of question is that?"

Taylor thought about _his_question for a moment, pondering over her reply as she studied his face. Suddenly, she cocked her head to the side and smiled. It was the first time he had ever seen her crack a real smile before, and _man_, did she look adorable when she did, even if it was just a small one. "Your scars kinda look like caterpillars," she giggled, trying to hide her laughter as her green eyes shined with delight. She stepped closer to him, wanting to run her fingers over the rippled flesh but knowing she shouldn't. "How did you get them?" she eventually queried, curiosity getting the best of her.

The Joker felt a wide grin spreading over his features, already imagining the perfect story to tell her. As he opened his mouth to reply, however, he was cut short when a deafening crash suddenly sounded from downstairs.

What was _that?_

His pulse quickened as he craned his neck sideways, his ear turned towards the hallway, listening intently. It kind of sounded like somehow had knocked the front door from its hinges . . . .

Licking his lips in anticipation, the Joker rose his kneeling position and silently went to the sink, reaching his hand inside the pocket of the blazer he had been wearing earlier and retracting his switchblade from it. Flicking it open, he turned back towards Taylor and whispered quietly to her.

"Wait here."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Notes: **__I'd like to give a little shout out to the author _**Shail666**_ because she was so kind as to provide me with some wonderful advice concerning the development of Taylor. And as for everyone else, I cannot possibly say it enough: thanks __so much__ for all the continuous support in the form of reviews and personal messages. You all never cease to amaze me._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Taylor's eyes were as wide as saucers upon hearing the Joker's words, and as realization began to dawn on her that the person downstairs very well could be her mother, her heart began to beat excitedly in her chest, pulsating against her small ribcage at a rapid pace.

As the Joker turned away from her to investigate the noise, Taylor suddenly lunged at the back of his leg, desperately clinging to his purple, pinstriped pants and effectively stopping him in his tracks. "Mommy?" she called out hopefully into the darkened hallway, eagerness filling her tone a she tried to push past the Joker.

"Hey!" he whispered fiercely, grasping onto the back of her pajamas and roughly pulling her backward, making her stumble over her feet and land on her bottom. His actions instantly stilled and his head suddenly snapped towards the hallway when the noise of something scraping against the floor met his ears. He listened intently for a few more moments before turning back to Taylor and narrowing his eyes at her threateningly. "I said. Wait. _Here_." He gave her a firm look and she nodded her head numbly as she looked up at him from her spot on the floor, watching apprehensively as he pulled his purple gloves out his pocket and quickly slipped them on.

Throwing once last glance over his shoulder, he slowly stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway, his body casting elongated shadows on the carpet as the dull, mustard yellow light dimly shone from behind him. As he carefully crept down the staircase, switchblade firmly gripped in his hand, he had to wonder if it really _was _Taylor's mother who was downstairs. What would he do with her if it was? He could always just kill her, that way he'd be rid of her and Taylor would never even know.

_What to do what to do . . . . _

As he neared the bottom of the staircase, he noticed that the small round end table behind the front door was now lying sideways on the floor. Whoever was in the house had obviously knocked it over upon entry.

Dismantling the stairs, his eyes quickly searched the darkened room. By now the sky was a dark, charcoal grey, the last remaining signs of night disappearing within the early morning fog. The white snow glittered and sparkled off the moonlit streets outside while the iced over harbor looked as smooth as glass. It was also cold, almost unbearably so, but that certainly wasn't going to stop him now. The Joker quickly pulled out his pocket watch and stole a glance at its face. _4 A.M_. The warmth of the sun wouldn't be up for at least another three hours.

Knife still gripped tightly in his hand, he crept into the living room, his breathing slowed to a minimum as the frigid, icy air around him stung his skin and made the back of his throat feel uncomfortably raw. When he stilled his movements, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stood by the side of the couch, he immediately became aware of the sound of slow, measured breaths.

And they were getting closer.

Without warning, the Joker quickly spun on his heel and immediately came face to face with the barrel of a black revolver, the object glinting dangerously in the dark.

"Don't move a muscle," came the surprisingly young, male voice from the owner of the gun. "And put your hands up where I can see them."

The Joker felt a grin spreading over his features as he slowly raised both of his gloved hands, his knife still clutched in one of them.

As the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, the Joker looked over the man's face, instantly coming to find that the 'man' was practically a boy. He must have been twenty-one, at the least. He was dressed in black jeans and a dirty biker jacket, his hands clad in black, fingerless gloves.

"Drop the knife," he ordered, staring the Joker right in the eyes. If he happened to notice that the Joker wasn't wearing his usual face paint, he didn't acknowledge the fact, his eyes simply cold and hard.

"Drop—drop the knife? You want me to drop it?" he asked, his voice underlined with false, mocking uncertainty.

"Yeah, you heard me clown, drop it. Go on, hurry up."

Seeming to consider his request for a moment, the Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip and suddenly took a step closer, making the other man take a small step back. "_I'll _drop _this_," he waved his knifed hand, still held near the side of his head, "if _you_ drop _that_," he eyed the boy's revolver, "and maybe then we can talk, hm?"

The boy's gaze wavered to the floor momentarily as he took a step back, hesitantly returning the Joker's cold, expectant gaze. He shook his head back and forth nervously, his arm still outstretched and pointed straight at the Joker's chest. "I don't think so."

The Joker narrowed his eyes. "You don't . . . _think so_?" he questioned incredulously, cocking his head to the side as he took another step closer the boy.

"Drop the knife or—or I'll shoot," he warned threateningly, cocking his gun.

"No?" the Joker asked, referring to his earlier proposal. "Well, alright then."

Before the young boy even knew what was happening, the Joker had suddenly lunged for him.

At the sudden movement, he jumped back reflexively and pulled the trigger, a loud bang immediately echoing throughout the room.

The bullet narrowly escaped the Joker's right shoulder, and he managed to crouch low in just enough time in order to miss the bullet as it whirred over his shoulder and buried itself in the brick wall behind him. The boy stumbled backwards in shock, the revolver hot and smoking in his hand.

"You _really_ shouldn't have done that," the Joker chuckled darkly, the laughter coming deep from within the pit of his stomach and working all the way up to his throat. He menacingly stalked closer to the boy, his grin deadly.

As he neared, the younger man started to back away, firing off three more poorly-aimed shots, all of them missing their designated target. As he began to nervously stumble along backwards, he suddenly tripped on a large, broken vase and tumbled onto his back, glass breaking beneath his weight. He could instantly feel sharp shards of glass poking through his leather jacket and sticking to the skin of his back. During the fall, the gun was dropped to the floor in a dull clatter. It was a rookie mistake, but that one move would change the whole evening. The Joker carelessly kicked the gun away and it skidded across the floor and out of sight.

The boy, who didn't even seem to notice, groaned in pain and weakly tried to crawl backwards. The Joker, however, now standing directly over him, squatted down next to him, resting on his haunches. He pocketed his switchblade inside is jacket as the younger man looked confusedly at him, wondering what he was doing. He didn't have much time to react when the Joker suddenly leaned forward and roughly grabbed hold of the lapels of his jacket, painfully tugging on the leather material so he could pull the boy's chest closer to his own.

"Now," he grunted, pulling the younger man even closer, "why don't you tell me who sent you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed defiantly.

The Joker snorted and rolled his eyes in amusement, a smirk finding its way to his scarred mouth. "Oh come now, we don't need any of that," he replied reasonably, immediately calling the man's bluff. "You can_ trust_ me," he tried to assure him, but seeing the doubt on the boy's face, he quickly shifted closer to him and leaned in, his lips hovering near the side of the boy's face. "I'm a man of my _word_," he whispered lowly, his humid breath ghosting over the shell of the boy's ear while the vibrations from his voice made goose bumps ripple across his flesh.

As the Joker pulled away to stare into the boy's terrified face, he was met with wide, dark blue eyes, his eyes staring at the scars on either side of the Joker's mouth. When the boy's eyes finally rose to meet his, the Joker frowned and cocked his head to the side knowingly. "Oh _I_get it now. It's the scars, isn't it?" The boy didn't answer, and the Joker continued on. "Don't worry, we'll get to that part soon enough. But I, ah," he swiped his tongue over his lips and cracked his neck from side to side, still holding the lapels of the boy's jacket firmly in his hands, "I want to tell you something first, ok?"

The boy's eyes widened in fear, and he roughly fought to get away. The Joker only tightened his hold on his jacket and gripped it firmly. "You goin' somewhere, hotshot? I'm trying to_ talk_ to you." He lowered his face right in front of the boy's, their noses nearly brushing from the close proximity. "I'm trying to talk to you," he repeated again, "and you better, ah, listen up, because I'm only," the Joker licked his lips, "only gonna repeat this _once_." He swallowed thickly, preparing himself for his speech.

"I just want you to know that I will not hesitate to _twist_ and _snap_ your neck right in_ half_." The boy tried to struggle again, but the Joker stilled him, using one of his hands to grab a fistful of his dark brown locks. He cried out in agony as the Joker wrenched his head forward. "Ah ah, I'm not finished yet. I also won't even think twice about slicing off every. Single. One. Of your little, tiny, fingers." He paused momentarily to gauge a reaction. "_And_ . . . it would not dampen my day one bi_t_ . . . to have to carve out your eyeballs and shove them down your throat. Very . . . _slowly_."

"So," his tone immediately brightened and he flashed an amiable smile, loosening his grip only slightly on the boy's scalp, "how about you tell me the _truth _when I ask you a question and uh, that way we can just cut the crap and get to the _good part,_ hm? So let's start from the beginning again. I asked you . . ." the Joker rolled his eyes upwards, pretending to be thinking about his earlier question. "Oh, oh _right_," he smiled sardonically, "I asked you who sent you here. And you were saying . . . ?"

The boy swallowed uneasily, shifting uncomfortably as shards of glass dug into the skin of his back while the Joker's grip on his hair remained unnervingly strong.

He was hesitating. The Joker didn't like that.

Roughly letting go of his hair, he suddenly reached inside his shoe and pulled out a knife.

_What the . . . ? _The boy looked on at the knife in absolute horror, his eyes growing wide. _What the hell was _that _for?_

Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, the Joker grinned maliciously, stifling a giggle. "Oh _this_? This is my _special _knife." He was using the tone of voice a parent would use when informing a child of something important. "You see, it has a_hook_ on the end. See it?" He thrust it towards the man's face so he could get a better view of the object. "You use it to carve out _eyes._" The Joker's own black orbs glittered in the darkness along with the hooked knife. "But_ I_ only use this for _special_ people." Leaning in closer, he dropped his voice down to a whisper and grinned devilishly. ". . . Like. _You_," he breathed.

The boy let out a shaky exhale of breath and shook his head back and forth, fire shooting up his scalp with the action. "Wait . . . _wait_," he pleaded desperately. "Dur—Durante Maroni, he's Salvatore Maroni's brother. He—he's the one who sent me," he said breathlessly.

The Joker clicked his tongue, his eyes glazing over as he stared thoughtfully at a spot just over the boy's shoulder. "Durante . . . _Maroni_." He ran his tongue over his cold, scarred mouth. He recognized the name to belong to the new mob boss of Gotham. He had taken over for Salvatore Maroni after the latter man's abrupt disappearance. "Durante Maroni," he repeated again, testing the name for himself one last time. "Now what could a _guy _like him, want with a _clown_ like me?"

Surely little old Durante wasn't foolish enough to want to screw around with the Joker . . . _right?_

He dropped his gaze back to the terrified boy who was staring up at him, demanding an answer to his question. Absently, he began to twirl the hooked knife in his free hand as a small reminder. The boy's gaze flitted between the knife and the Joker's eyes, finally settling on the latter. "I—I don't know. He said there was a new guy in Gotham and—and he wanted you dead. Maroni said you were . . . interfering with the new guy's plans and—and getting in the way."

Now they were getting somewhere. The Joker licked his lips eagerly. "Getting in the way of wha_t_ exactly?"

"He didn't say."

"And you didn't _ask_?" he questioned in exaggerated bewilderment.

"I'm just following orders," he replied quietly, fearfully averting his gaze to anywhere but the Joker's eyes.

"So tell me then, _bucko_," he shifted once again, wincing slightly when a jagged shard of glass dug into his knee, "who exactly is this . . . _new guy_?"

His Adam's apple bobbed and he swallowed thickly, sweat gathering on his forehead despite the frigid, winter air around them. His eyes darted all around the room, looking for any means of a possible escape. "I—I don't know his name, but—but he always wears this mask and it's . . . black." The boy stared up at the Joker apprehensively, hoping that his information would suffice; he honestly knew nothing more about the man other than what he had just said.

The Joker had a thoughtful expression on his face and was clearly lost in his thoughts when there was a sudden creak from the stairwell. He whipped his head around to stare at the spot where the sound had come from, but he could see nothing. He didn't need to see anything, though, he already knew who it was.

Damn her! If she _dared _come downstairs when he had _clearly _asked her _not _to he swore to himself that he would maim her pretty face beyond recognition. He hated it when people didn't listen to him. She was no exception.

Turning back to the boy, the Joker offered him a coy smile. "You wouldn't happen to know where this ah, Durante character _lives_ . . . would you?"

The boy swallowed thickly, and to the Joker, it looked like he had just tried to swallow a gigantic ice cube that just wouldn't fit down his throat. The image made him want to laugh. The boy shook his head back and forth. "I don't know." His reply was quiet and his eyes were downcast, giving the Joker the immediate impression that he was lying. And what did the Joker hate more than people not listening to him? People who_ lied _to him.

"That so?" he asked, his tone conversational but his eyes saying otherwise. The boy's inability to truthfully answer a question was pissing him off and his anger was increasing tenfold. Screw eyeballs, he was gonna use this sucker for something else. Working his mouth in an irritated manner, he took his knife and, in one fluid motion, suddenly hooked it deep inside the boy's ear, yanking him forward.

A strangled cry was ripped from his throat as he was tugged forward, his hands clawing at the Joker's hand, wanting nothing more than to remove the sharp, digging pressure inside his ear. He clutched the Joker's wrist with both of his hands, trying to pull his arm away. The action only made the Joker tug on the knife harder, causing dark crimson blood to trickle out of his ear.

The blood made the Joker's head spin wildly, and he lusted to see more of it. Tugging harder and making a scream erupt from the boy's throat, more blood poured out of his ear, dripping down his neck like a bloody, red waterfall. "Wait—please, stop!" he cried with breathlessly, his hands still encircled around the Joker's wrist, still attempting to pull the knife out of his ear. God, it was actually_ hooked_ inside his ear. If the pain wasn't enough to make him want to pass out, the mental image surely would.

"Speak up, speak up, speak up-_ah_," the Joker ordered in an irritated voice, pretending not to hear the boy's appeal.

"Please!" he shouted more forcefully this time, now opening his eyes to stare wide-eyed into the Joker's dark orbs.

"Are we finally ready to tell the truth?"

"Y-yes." The Joker rolled his eyes and waved his free hand, urging him to continue as his other hand was still wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife, the hook still residing painfully inside the boy's ear. He swallowed thickly as blood trickled out of his ear and down his neck, dribbling into his shirt. His blood felt strangely cool against again his skin. "Durante," he began, "he—he lives in Uptown Gotham, i—in Aporo Park.

"He's not in the Narrows?" That was strange. Aporo Park was definitely out of the inner city of Gotham, which the Joker found odd. Most of the mob liked to live close to where work was. _Why would he live so far away?_

"No." He grimaced and held back a gasp as his ear throbbed in acute pain. He had never in his life felt something so unbearably painful. "He's got a family there," he managed through clenched teeth, "wife and two kids."

_Aha. Bingo. _

The Joker took in this information wordlessly, his features passive and his face revealing nothing. Inside, however, the wheels and gears were turning in his head. He knew exactly what he had to do now.

He grinned widely, his scars stretching upwards towards his ears and his brown eyes sparkling with a dark sheen. Grunting with the effort, the Joker roughly jerked the hooked knife forward, ripping it out of the boy's ear and through his cheek, in between his two rows of teeth. Blood instantly erupted from his mouth and he let out a blood-curdling scream. He threw his head back in excruciating pain, his face twisted in an awful grimace.

Then the heavy sobs came. He cried for all he was worth, dropping onto his back and holding his face in his hands as he rolled around and twisted on the floor, oblivious to the glass beneath him as warm, sticky blood poured out from between his fingers. There was so much blood—_too much_ blood—and he didn't know what to do. The whole right side of his cheek was literally split in half, and some of his pale skin was hanging haphazardly from the side of his face while blood gushed out of his mouth, drenching his clothes in the warm, crimson fluid. Too much blood . . . .

He continued to sob hysterically, his body convulsing spastically as he rocked back and forth on the ground, curling his legs to his chest.

Still grinning like a Cheshire cat, the Joker pulled the man's legs away from his chest and proceeded to straddle him, applying all his weight to his waist as he sat on it. The boy wasn't even looking at him now, too focused on the pain that was coursing through his face. Roughly gripping his jaw in his hand, the Joker pushed the boy's hands aside and, taking the hooked knife, slowly dug it into his other ear and began to rip the hook out through his cheek once more. Blood spurted everywhere and the Joker groaned, shuddering in satisfaction at hearing the man's strained gurgles. He had—_quite literally_—created a smile that reached his ears.

His eyes widened momentarily while his mouth opened in a silent scream, blood now pouring from both sides of his ruined face. The Joker smirked darkly as he watched saliva and blood dribble down his chin and neck, watching as the life slowly drained out of him. His eyes were already beginning to roll into the back of his head, and finally, after a low gurgle and a sudden spurt of blood from his mouth, the boy was dead.

Funny. The boy had come to kill _him_ and yet exactly the opposite had happened. The Joker had ended up killing _him_. Funny how that worked out.

Breathing heavily, the Joker shivered as a chill ran up his spine, his green-tinged hair hiding his face as he stared down at the bloodied man in satisfaction. He really had needed this. He hadn't killed anybody sense his escape from Arkham, which had been far, far too long ago.

Still straddling the man, he took his knife and carefully dabbed it on the navy blue t-shirt that was hidden beneath the boy's jacket, wiping it clean of his blood. Pleased with himself, he expertly tucked it back inside his shoe. Stretching to his full height, he then wiped his purple gloves on his suit jacket, starring down at the bloodied mess before him.

_Damn._ He hated when he had to clean stuff like this up. Normally he'd have one of his boys do it for him, but since none of them were here he'd just have to do it himself.

Frowning thoughtfully, the Joker turned on his heel and ducked into the kitchen, opening cabinets and searching through them blindly. The pizza boxes still remained on the counter where he left them, the cereal box was still on the table, and Taylor's blood was dried on the linoleum floor.

_Ah ha._ He thought he had seen a plastic trash bag earlier when he had been searching through the cabinets.

Returning to the living room with the black plastic, he expertly stuffed the boy's dead body inside the bag, but not before searching for any weapons in the his pockets. All he found was a picture of some girl and a pack of cigarettes. Dropping these items carelessly inside the bag, he dragged it across the floor and into the kitchen, the plastic catching on pieces of glass and other random objects, leaving rips in the bag where trails of blood leaked through. Fortunately, the floor was so dirty that no one would even notice, least of all Taylor.

Once in the kitchen, he opened the back door and proceeded to dump the trash bag in an empty garbage bin beneath the window that was over the sink.

_That was easy._

The snow had finally stopped falling and the sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon, the sky aglow with different shades of dark, shadowy grays and pale, creamy yellows, making the snow glitter in the early morning sun.

"Good riddance," the Joker mumbled to the trash can, slamming the lid over it before heading back inside.

Sighing heavily, he trudged back through the living room, sidestepping the large puddles of blood by the door, and finally up the staircase, skipping two steps at a time. The house was eerily quiet now, even though his ears still rang from the boy's shrill screams.

Once he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced into the bathroom. The light was still on but it was empty; the now-murky bathtub water completely still and Taylor's dress no longer lying on the floor.

Clicking his tongue thoughtfully against the roof of his mouth, he made his way towards Taylor's room. When he entered the doorway, he was surprised to find that she wasn't there. Making a confused noise in the back of his throat, he awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck, his lips downturned in a frown.

_Where'd she go? _

He turned back out into the dark hallway, his eyes searching through all the rooms as he passed them, each time finding them empty of any signs of Taylor.

That was until he came upon the room where he had pinned her to the floor yesterday morning. The door was open, his crescent-shaped fingernail marks on the wood still obviously apparent, and the door to the closet closed.

_Ah. _

Moving noiselessly into the room, he stopped when he stood just in front of the closet door. Straightening out his tie and making sure he had no . . . unwanted bloodstains or . . . _body parts _on his person, he slowly opened it.

Only to find that Taylor wasn't there.

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his head cocked to the side in confusion. _Well_, he thought, he hadn't been expecting _that._

He frowned as he began to think of all the places she could have gone. As he was thinking, another thought suddenly occurred to him. Surely it had just been that _one _man who had entered the house and not . . . _two_? And now that the Joker was thinking about it, how had that man even found out where he was? If the mob could find out then surely the GPD could too. It was only a matter of time. Maybe someone had followed him the other day when he had went out to get pizza? He knew he shouldn't have done that, but a man had to eat, and he hadn't been in touch with any of his boys since Arkham, else he would've had one of them gone out to get him something. He'd have to contact somebody soon . . . or at least find some new recruits. A man couldn't cause chaos all by himself in city as big as Gotham.

And who was this 'mask' character and why did he want the Joker dead? Sure, there were a _lot_ of people who wanted the Joker dead, but why have one of the biggest crime lords in the whole city act as a cover up for the _real _man behind the attempted assassination? What as the point of that?

That was what the Joker was determined to find out.

Forgetting about Taylor, he turned on his heel instead and made his way out of the room, down the rickety staircase and into the second downstairs apartment where he had set up his 'office'.

Swiftly, he made his way over to the desk and plopped himself down in the swivel chair in front of it, pushing his pencils, the pair of scissors, and _The Gotham Times _up against the wall and out of his way. He pulled out the large map of Gotham he had tucked away inside his box next, spreading it out over the desk as his eyes roamed over the upper half of the paper.

Squinting his eyes in the dusky morning light, his eyes skimmed over Aporo Park. It was, as the Joker had originally thought, far outside of the inner city and was mostly countryside that was dotted with the occasional small farm and those little windmill things. What was a mob boss doing all the way out there?

_Probably trying to keep his family out of danger,_ he figured. _Little good that's going to do him now. _

His pointer finger slowly began to trace the route from Dixon Docks (where he was now,) all the way up towards Aporo Park. He estimated that it would take at least three hours to get there—that was if he drove fast, and he _always_ drove fast.

Suddenly, a loud creak sounded from the staircase behind him and the Joker craned his neck behind him to see Taylor slowly descending the stairs, taking one step at a time. She had her teddy bear clutched close to her chest while her other hand was gripped around the stairwell railing tightly. Her eyes were downcast, her gaze downcast, making sure she didn't miss a step or accidentally trip.

The Joker licked his lips idly as he watched her descend the stairs. She was looking around the room cautiously as she stepped off the final stair, her small feet padding softly across the carpeted floor towards him.

Her long hair was still damp from her bath and was falling down her back and over her shoulders in tangled waves.

As she came closer, the Joker was surprised to find that she looked absolutely terrified. Her face was drawn together in a deep, worried frown, her brows furrowed and her mouth parted. She looked on the verge of tears.

Turning in his chair to fully face her, the Joker sprawled his long legs out and planted his feet firmly on the ground in front of him, letting his hands rest on the armrests of the chair. He regarded her curiously. "What'sa matter, doll face?" he asked amiably, knowing that being aggressive wouldn't solve anything, at least not right now, anyway. He resolved to be nice to her, if only for a few minutes. He was in a particularly good mood after his killing and would try to be agreeable towards the girl for as long as his mood aloud.

Taylor stopped several feet away from him and let out a shuddering breath, assessing the man in front of her warily from beneath her lashes, eyeing his purple attire with caution. _Why was he dressed in his clown suit again? _she wanted to know.

Clutching her bear tighter to her, she let her eyes roam up the Joker's lazily seated frame until she reached his dark gaze. "Why was there a man screaming?" she ventured cautiously, almost as if she didn't really want to know.

The Joker grimaced. "He—he was having a bad day," he explained, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible.

"Oh." She averted her gaze to the carpet. "He sounded like he was crying," she said. "Did you help cheer him up?" she asked somewhat hopefully, biting her lip as she waited for his reply.

The Joker was staring at her intently, his lips curved upwards in a small smile. "I'd say so."

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Taylor simply stood in her spot, hugging her bear to her and averting her gaze once again to the floor.

When it appeared that she was not going to speak anymore, the Joker turned away from her and back to the desk, ripping off a small corner piece of paper from _The Gotham Times _and grabbing a black pencil. He scooted his chair closer to the desk and, with pencil in hand, propped his elbows on the tabletop and proceeded to write furiously.

Smiling to himself, he ran his tongue along the insides of his scars and stared at the map in front of him as he continued to scribble on his piece of paper.

_Tonight_, he thought to himself, the two of them would be taking a little . . . _road trip_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Taylor stood directly behind the Joker as he sat with his shoulders hunched at the desk. His head was bowed low over his work and his dirty-blond, unwashed locks shrouded his face from her view. She absentmindedly began running her fingers over her teddy bear's furry tummy, watching curiously as he worked.

The rising sun had temporally disappeared and was now hiding behind opaque, silvered clouds, leaving the room poorly lit. The light coming in from the bay window was a dusty and pallid light gray, shrouding everything in the room in pale colors of ash and stone. Outside, the air was frigid, leaving the windowpanes scratched and scarred with white, icy lines.

As Taylor studied the Joker, her head cocked to the side in a speculative manner, she began to wonder if he was someone she could trust. She still didn't know why he was here, especially since he hadn't really mentioned anything more about her mother. He had told her only a couple of hours ago that her mother was waiting for her at the park, but she found that rather odd. Her mother had never taken her to the park, nor had ever even wanted to.

As for the Joker, though, she was still a little bit scared of him and was cautious of her actions when around him. He was like a ticking time bomb and could go off at even the slightest touch or annoyance. And his moods were about as changing and inconsistent as the wind. But the more she thought about it, she couldn't help but think about how kind he had been, too. He had provided her with food, given her a bath, and even dressed her. Not to mention he had also made that one man happy again after he had been sad and crying. That sure was nice of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

She let out a small, broken sigh as she moved closer to him, tentatively standing near the side of the desk while he continued on with his work, not paying her any attention.

As her eyes roamed around the empty room, they suddenly fell on his box resting on the floor near the desk. Biting her lip, she glanced up at him only to see that he was still engrossed in his work. Deciding that he was fully preoccupied with whatever it was he was doing, she moved closer towards the box and cautiously cast a glance inside.

Her bear gently dropped to the floor as she reached her hand into the box and pulled out a small white playing card. There was a little black man on the front dressed in a strange outfit and wearing a pointed hat with bells on the end of it. To Taylor, it appeared that the little black man was dancing. "What's this?" she asked, holding the card closer to her face so she could inspect it better.

The Joker's head slowly rose from his work and he turned to look at her. "That is," he smacked his lips together loudly, "my car_d_." His eyes trailed up from the object to Taylor's face to read her reaction. Her eyes were narrowed into tiny slits and she was staring at the card precariously, as if it might suddenly jump up and bite her if she wasn't careful.

"J—jo . . . jok . . . ." She trailed off uncertainly, trying her best to pronounce the word that was written vertically on the side of the card. She pointed to the letters as she stepped closer. "Is this the letter 'J'?"

The Joker nodded his head wordlessly, still watching her with silent interest.

"Is _'J'_ . . . your name?" she asked in a defeated tone, not even bothering herself with trying to pronounce the whole word.

He stared back down at her questioning gaze and into her bright green eyes, nodding his head slowly, his gaze unwavering. Tilting his head sideways, he turned fully in his chair to face her, propping his elbows on his knees as he lowered his face closer towards her own. He would never admit it aloud, but he secretly loved looking into her eyes. There were times when he just couldn't tear his gaze away from them, almost as if he were perpetually transfixed. She had the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen and were framed by long, thick black lashes. Her orbs were strangely bright and crystal clear, but were rimmed around the outer edges with a darker shade of green. He had never seen a pair some unique, so intriguing. They were her most striking feature, to be sure, but they also seemed so out of her place on her thin, gaunt face.

Eventually, he was able to snap out of his little trance, and he suddenly swiped the playing card from her hand and tucked the object inside his jacket. "Don't touch the box." Sitting up straight, the chair creaking with his movements, he turned away from her once again and resumed his work, leaving a confused Taylor standing beside him.

After a moment of silence, the Joker heard her let out a small sigh. Furtively, he stole a sideways glance at her, watching from the corner of his eye as she attempted to fold her arms across the top of the desk but finding that she wasn't quite tall enough to do so. He smirked to himself and averted his gaze just as she abandoned her idea, instead moving to stand by his side.

Hesitating for only a moment, she suddenly ducked under his arm that was propped up on the desk. His brows rose of their own accord as she dug her elbows into his thigh, looking up at him briefly to see if she had his approval. "What're you _doing_?" she asked curiously. She tried to peek over the edge of the desk by standing on her toes and applying all her weight to her elbows.

The Joker shifted in his chair and sighed, trying to ignore her prying question as he continued writing, his eyes occasionally darting between the map splayed out on the desk and the small, ripped newspaper piece he was scrawling on.

"Are you drawing a picture?" she queried. The Joker simply remained silent and focused his attention on the task at hand instead, trying to block out her tiny, curious voice. "Are you making a book?" Upon hearing no response, she continued on again. "Are you . . . _coloring_?" she asked exasperatedly, all out of ideas.

The Joker dropped his pencil on the desk in annoyance, glaring down at her with narrowed eyes as she looked up at him bashfully, biting her lip. "I just wanna know what you did." She moved her eyes over the top of the desk once more. "Did you draw a kitty? Because I like kitties. I used to have one when I was a baby," Taylor explained, still trying to peek over the side of the desk, "but momma said I couldn't keep it because it was grandma's kitty, and momma said that grandma didn't want us to touch any of her stuff."

Raising his brows half in amusement and half in surprise, the Joker simply stared at her. He hadn't heard her say that much to him ever since he had found her nearly two days ago.

"You wanna know the kitty cat's name?" she asked hopefully, looking up at him with her wide, green eyes.

"Not really . . . ."

"Well, her name was Jasper, and she was so fluffy that momma said she looked like a big ball of fuzz!" Taylor giggled and tried to contain her growing smile. "Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard?" Her eyes were sparkling with amusement, and the Joker's only response was a heavy sigh.

"Hilarious."

She squinted her eyes at him in confusion. "What does hil-har-ee-os mean?"

Irritably drumming his fingers against the desk, he suddenly pushed her arms off his thigh with his other hand, causing her to fall to the floor and land on her bottom. "_Why_ do you ask so many questions?" he asked, using the same exasperated tone Taylor had used only moments before.

Fear flashed in her eyes for a split second, but when she saw that he made no further move to threaten her, she relaxed slightly. Frowning up at him from her spot on the floor, she stared straight into his eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly. Crossing her legs Indian style, she dropped her hands into her lap and linked her fingers together, staring down at them intently. "Why do you never answer them?"

A bit reluctantly, the Joker felt his scars pulling taught as a small grin stretched the corners of his mouth. _That was good. _

"That's okay," she continued on when he didn't answer. "Mommy never answered my questions either. But that was because she was never home." She was still staring into her lap, playing with her interlocked fingers. "She said she had to work all the time because daddy didn't want to. But I never knew my daddy, he never lived with us. Momma said that my daddy didn't love me, and that's why I never see him." Taylor paused and briefly looked up at the Joker to see if he was still listening to her. Spying at him from under her lashes, she saw that she still had his attention, so she continued on, dropping her gaze into her lap once more. "Does your daddy hate you too?" she questioned in a hushed tone, as if she knew she were treading in deep waters."Is that why you have scars on your face?"

The Joker's mouth only twitched in response, but he did nothing more.

Taylor, unknowing of the sudden shift in emotions, continued on further. "My mommy gave me scars. I have one on my arm. Wanna see it? Its right here," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she untangled her legs and rose from the floor, coming towards him with her right arm outstretched. When she was standing next to him, she pointed to a white, raised scar that ran along the whole length of the underside of her arm. The Joker tongued at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the ruined laceration, wondering why he had never noticed it before. "It really hurt when she did that," she explained in a small voice. "She was really angry."

"Where does your uh, _mommy_ . . . work?" He didn't know why he was trying to find out more about her past, but she sure as hell was a talkative little thing when she wanted to be.

Taylor absentmindedly brushed her fingers along the raised tissue as she looked up at him, excited that he had just shown interest in what she was saying and was actually asking her a question. "Oh I don't know," she replied quickly, "but mommy always comes home really late when I'm sleeping. She always wears sparkly clothes and pretty bracelets." She paused suddenly, eyeing the Joker's attire with interest. "Do you wear sparkly clothes?" She squinted her eyes at him.

"Uh . . . _no_."

"Yeah, me neither." She sighed heavily, her small chest rising and falling. She glanced back up at him and noticed he was looking at her strangely before turning in his seat and resuming his work again. Biting her lower lip, she peered up at him thoughtfully, watching as he worked his mouth from side to side in a concentrated manner, his dark eyes darting back and forth across the paper in front of him. After a moment of silent pondering, Taylor came to realize that he had once again avoided her main question; she still didn't know if he was coloring a picture or writing a book. She wondered why he didn't tell her.

Yawning tiredly, she realized that it had been a while since she had last slept. Rubbing her eyelids, she fought back another yawn and moved away from the Joker, retrieving Teddy from the floor and latching her arms around him protectively.

As her eyes sleepily scanned the gray shadowed room, she happened to notice the small bench just below the bay window on the opposite side of the room. Dragging her bear along with her, she noiselessly padded over to it and crawled up onto the padded seat, her eyes briefly wandering over to where the Joker sat as she situated herself comfortably.

He still wasn't looking at her, so she directed her gaze out the window, a heavy sigh escaping her as she stared out at the dull, overcast and clouded sky. The iced-over harbor water was completely still, and the tall skyscrapers that loomed in the distance beyond it were barely noticeable through the thick blanket of fog. She daintily pressed her fingertips against the frosted glass, tracing twisted patterns against it and leaving a clear path in her wake.

As her fingers moved over the glass, she stared out at the black, snow-covered lampposts and the wooden docks by the harbor, wondering when her mother would return. Even though her mother was physically and mentally abusive to her, Taylor still missed her. She was, after all, the only person she had ever really communicated and interacted with. She had never gone to daycare or preschool, never made any friends, and never met any of her relatives, at least none that she could remember. Her mother had succeeded at shutting her off from the rest of the world, and because of it, all Taylor had ever known was right inside the walls of the decrepit building she called home.

When another yawn escaped from her, she abandoned her window drawings and carefully laid her head back on the padded cushion, (her wound still stung quite painfully,) and held her bear close to her side as she lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It was only a couple of minutes later when her eyelids begun to flutter, and she was soon fast asleep.

Several minutes later, the Joker grunted irritably, letting his pencil drop to the desk with a clatter as he pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. Stretching his arms behind his back, his purple coat bunching around his shoulders, he glanced behind him to see Taylor sleeping on the window seat. She was lying on her side and facing him, her hands cushioned beneath her head to act as a pillow.

He felt relieved knowing she was asleep; now he could finally get some serious work done without being distracted. He sifted through his box of things and retrieved an old, untraceable cell phone he had acquired a while back. Flipping it open, he dialed a number he knew off the top of his head and flopped back into the swivel chair as it creaked beneath his weight.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon were spent making phone calls and writing down information he had garnered and thought might be useful for later. He was calling some old friends of sorts as well, asking, or rather, demanding, that they pull through on a few favors for him. All the while, Taylor slept soundly on the other side of room, the quiet sounds of her breathing filling the void of silence whenever the Joker wasn't talking on the phone. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon when he finished his phone calls and had pulled out his pocket watch to assess the time.

Licking his lips as he pushed his chair back from the desk, he rose from his seat and began to make his way out of the room, throwing a quick glance at the still-sleeping form of Taylor beneath the window. In the apartment next door, he retrieved a few slice of cold pizza and downed them quickly. When he was finished, he gathered up all of his boxed belongings and took them to the car.

Outside, the air was freezing, the icy morning breeze brisk and biting. His shoes were lost in nearly three feet of snow, and by the time he had reached the car, his pants were soaked up to his knees. Pulling the keys from his jacket pocket and unlocking the car, he discarded the box haphazardly into the trunk. After he had shut it and was now simply holding the keys in his hand, he stared down at them blankly, wondering if he had forgotten anything.

The only thing still inside was Taylor.

For a second, he considered just getting in the car and leaving without her.

That idea, however, was quickly dismissed. She was so perfect for his plan. _Perfect_—as in no other substitute would cut it—not without going through a hell of a lot of trouble, anyway.

_She damn well better be worth this, _he thought. He was doing all this for Batman, after all. He couldn't wait to see the look on his face, or, the bottom half of it, at least, when his plan would finally unfold and be revealed before Gotham. It would be absolutely _flawless_. It was the type of plan that would have Gotham begging for mercy. The type of plan that would forcibly wrench Batman out of hiding and back to the scene of the crime—with cape and cowl—to release Gotham from the Joker's confines of chaos once more.

Only this time, Batman wouldn't be able to save his precious city. His plan was _that_ foolproof.

The Joker imagined the emotions he would feel after seeing Batman again after the vigilante's long disappearance. It would be absolutely exhilarating, fighting with him again like the two of them once had. It felt like years ago when the whole Harvey Dent incident had occurred; had it only been three months ago? The thought was unfathomable. Nevertheless, the Joker's plan would draw Batman out of hiding, and he decided that keeping Taylor would definitely be worth it in the long run. He would _make_ her worth it. She was crucial to the plan.

With that decided, he had already begun trudging back through the snow and into the building once more, entering through the second apartment door where he had set up office. Upon entering, he immediately noticed that the window seat was empty—save for Taylor's teddy bear who was, once again, staring at him through beady, black eyes. God, he hated that thing.

His eyebrows furrowing, he made his way up the stairs. Taylor had probably noticed that he wasn't sitting at the desk when she had woken up and had gone looking for him.

He was surprised, however, when the sound of her frantic cries reached his ears just as he finished his climb up the stairs. "Mr. J!" she screamed. "Mr. J where are you?"

_Mr. J? Well, that's a new one. _

Suddenly, Taylor came barreling out of the bathroom at full speed. Upon seeing the Joker, she ran straight towards him and threw herself at his legs, wrapping her arms around one of them and nearly sending him toppling backwards down the staircase. He grasped onto the railing to keep himself from falling. "Mr. J," she sobbed breathlessly, tears running down her cheeks as she buried her face in the rough fabric of his pinstriped pants.

The Joker only stared at her confusedly, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Hesitantly, he reached up and patted the top of her blonde head gently, not understanding why she was crying. "Sh sh. Tell Mr. J what's wrong, doll face."

Taylor was sobbing and drooling on his pantsuit, her face pressed up against his leg as her tiny fingers dug into the back of his thigh, holding him close to her. "I was looking all over for you," she explained through gasping hiccups and tears. "I thought you had left me."

"Leave you here all by yourself? Why, I would never." He shook his head as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.

Taylor sniffled. "When I woke up you weren't sitting in your chair anymore." She brushed some stray tears away with the back of her hand as she stared up at him.

"Well, I'm here _now_," he replied dryly. Frowning, he crouched down in front of her. Rocking back on his heels, he looked her straight in the eyes and reached up a hand to brush a stray piece of her hair away from her face. He gently tucked it behind her ear, trying to calm her from her hysterics before he laid down the big news.

_Here goes nothing_.

"Listen, we're ah, we're going to go out for a while," he began, readying his hands at his sides just in case he needed to reach out and grab her if she tried to get away, "but we'll be coming back . . . later," he said carefully, lowering his head so he was looking up at her from beneath his brows.

Taylor's own brows furrowed as she looked at him, her heart beginning to beat faster as realization of his words sunk in. She swallowed thickly. "But—but what if I'm not here when my mommy gets back? Then—then she'll get mad at me and—and _hurt_ me." Taylor stuttered and tripped over her words, her eyes still slightly watery from her previous flow of tears. They moved frantically back and forth between the Joker's, searching for any sign that would let her know that he understood what she was trying to say.

He tilted his head to the side and quickly licked his lips, shifting closer to her on his haunches. "Don't you ah, don't you _trust _me, sweetheart?" His voice was sickly sweet and nasally, his head cocked almost innocently while his dark, narrowed eyes glittered with ulterior motives. He moved his hand that was near her ear and dragged it lower until he was cupping the back of her neck. Gently, he began to run his thumb over the nape of her neck in slow, soothing circles, subtly hoping to coax her into saying yes.

Taylor swallowed thickly again, and the Joker instantly knew that he had her then. He could see all her walls of obedience, loyalty, and righteousness come tumbling down around her as she battled with her conscience. She had probably never so blatantly disregarded her mother's orders before, and this was a big step for her. He knew. He had done it all before, most likely, most kids did, at one point or another. The truth was he didn't really remember. The past was all a messy blur of pictures, colors, and memories now, and even all those were questionable at best. Even so, Taylor was knowingly breaking the rules—and she was doing it for him—so it meant that she really was beginning to trust him.

"Where are we going?" she asked after a considerable amount of silence had passed, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Just . . . out," he replied eventually, still running his thumb in slow, measured circles against the nape of her neck, lulling her into a false sense of security.

She pressed her lips together firmly, her green eyes searching his dark brown ones. "I . . . ." she paused, her face falling in defeat. "My mommy is gonna be so _angry _at me," she whispered, dropping her eyes to the floor.

She looked so heartbroken over her decision, but the Joker could only grin to himself. So she _did_ trust him, even if it was only a little. It was still something.

Why couldn't it have been this easy the first time he had tried to get her to leave the house?

"We'll be back before she gets home," he promised. It wasn't necessarily a lie—her mother was probably never coming back, so even if Taylor didn't either it wouldn't really matter. Giving her one last look in the eyes, he abruptly dropped his hand from the back of her neck and stood up, towering over her at his full height once more. "Ready to go?"

". . . I have to pack."

The Joker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Make it fast."

Taylor immediately scampered down the hallway to her bedroom, and, with nothing else to do, he decided to follow her.

He casually leaned against the door frame and crossed his ankles. With his arms folded across his chest, he let his eyes follow her as she moved quickly around the room, dragging her yellow backpack behind her as she went over to where the many cardboard boxes lay in the corner. She was digging through one of them, intent on finding a certain object. The boxes were overflowing with random junk, and as Taylor sifted through it all, a plastic picture frame suddenly fell out of the box and onto the carpet. She didn't seem to notice.

Curious, the Joker stepped into the room and bent over to pick it up, turning it over in his gloved hands so he was looking at the front. Even though the plastic was cracked, he was still able to distinguish that a young girl, probably about sixteen or seventeen with short brown hair, was wearing a cheerleading uniform and had blue pompoms in both hands. Standing in the grass next to her was a young boy who was roughly the same age with light brown hair, dressed in black jeans and a red letterman jacket. The boy had his arm wrapped around the girl's waist and the two were smiling cheekily.

Taylor suddenly glanced up at the Joker and noticed what he was looking at. "That's my mommy," she said quietly, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Isn't she pretty?"

The Joker grinned lopsidedly and stared down at her. "Not as pretty as you, baby doll."

He only said it because he wanted to see her smile, which is exactly what she did when the words left his mouth. She blushed furiously and ducked her head, giggling, and unable to hide her growing smile.

Smirking, he watched her with amusement as she continued with her search through the cardboard box. He waited patiently as she began stuffing various items of clothing into her yellow backpack, fitting as many pairs of underwear, socks, and dresses into the bag that she possibly could. She also managed to cram in an old pair of sneakers and a couple of hair ties along with a hairbrush. Once the bag was practically busting at the seams, Taylor went over to the bed and stuck her hand underneath it, pulling out a green toothbrush.

Quirking his brow, the Joker decided not to ask how that got there.

When it seemed she was done, he gestured with his head toward the doorway. "Out," he ordered.

Taylor nodded her head wordlessly and quickly stuffed her toothbrush in her bag. After zipping it up, she carefully slid the heavy bag over both shoulders and then looked up at him expectantly, finally ready to go.

He raised his brows as if to say _it's about time_, but otherwise moved out of the room and passed through the doorway silently, Taylor obediently trailing behind him.

As they were about to reach the staircase, he suddenly turned on his heel to face Taylor. "Use the bathroom." He gestured towards it with his thumb. It was going to be a long car ride, and if things went accordingly, they wouldn't be making any stops along the way . . . especially for _potty breaks._

She obeyed him without question, stepping past him and into the bathroom. She closed the door, but, as the Joker was about to step down the stairs, it suddenly opened again.

"Can you wait right there?" she asked, pleading at him with wide, green eyes.

The Joker's face broke into a sardonic smile. "_Sureee_," he drawled. "I'll just wait right. Here."

Taylor nodded her head feebly and then shut the door.

Sighing heavily, he leaned his back against the wall and inspected the dirt under his fingernails. He couldn't believe he was actually doing all this. It all felt so abnormally . . . _ab__normal_. He had never taken care of someone so . . . little before. Sure, had kidnapped people before and held them against their will for a couple of days but this . . . this was different. Taylor actually trusted him. And, not only that, but she also didn't know who he even was. To her, he was just some stranger—but to the people of Gotham and the general public—he was a monster. A wicked, impious monster who did terrible, disturbing things. _And she has no idea . . . . _And of all the people in Gotham, she was the only one who _didn't_ know who he was. It was all terribly ironic, almost laughingly so.

Hearing the sounds of water running through the pipes and the toilet flush, the Joker pushed his back off the wall just as the door opened. She emerged out of the bathroom with her yellow backpack straps hanging over her shoulders. "I'm ready," she said quietly, folding her hands in front of her.

The Joker acknowledged her silently and turned down the staircase where he had been working earlier, Taylor following behind him, taking one step at a time.

Once both of them reached the bottom of the stairs, he opened the apartment door and was instantly met with a cool blast of winter air, his dark blond waves fluttering around his face. He held the door wide open for Taylor and stood back, revealing the white, snowy world outside. He grinned at her from the doorway.

"Let's get outta here."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Notes: **__Something I thought some of you might be interesting in knowing: back in chapter six, when the Joker is cutting the assassin's face into pieces, I had in my original draft actually written a scene where Taylor was standing at the top of the stairs, watching as the Joker murdered the assassin. Because I knew that a lot of people were expecting that to happen, however, I decided not to add that scene. All the progress that the Joker and Taylor had made and their special character dynamic with each other would have been ruined. All the trust that Taylor had placed in the Joker would have come to a screeching halt, and I would have had to backtrack and kind of rebuild everything from the bottom up again. That, ultimately, would have delayed the plot from advancing further._

_On a side note, I would like to offer a special shout-out to _**PoisonLipz**_ because she sends me the most beautiful messages. I would like to make a shout-out to _**freakwriterCHM**_ as well for always leaving me such wonderful reviews. I appreciate both of you two as well as everyone else so incredibly much. I cannot believe the feedback I've received for this story; I'm in awe. Thank you all so much. I don't believe I deserve all this, but I appreciate it a lot. You guys are awesome._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The snow that lay outside was a brilliant and blinding shade of white, despite the overcast and gray clouds above, and, as the Joker stood with one arm outstretched in the open doorway, he licked his chapped lips impatiently.

Taylor was wide-eyed with wonder while the icy breeze coming in through the doorway whipped her blonde tangles around her face.

"Come on come on," he urged quickly, gesturing to the door once more. Someone could see them at anytime; it was, after all, still early in the day, and he was certainly not in the mood to be hounded by the GPD—or anybody else for that matter.

She glanced at him uncertainly from her spot by the stairs and then, suddenly, hurried over to the window seat, her backpack bouncing behind her as she ran to grab her teddy bear, not wanting to leave her furry friend behind.

Finally ready to leave, the Joker waited for Taylor to pass through the door first before following behind her. But Taylor wouldn't move.

"Wha_t_ are you _doing_?" he asked impatiently, narrowing his eyes. This girl was _really_ starting to get on his last nerves. He wasn't a very patient man when it came to certain matters, and she was only adding fuel to the fire.

Taylor simply looked down at her feet. "I don't have my shoosies on."

"Your _what_?"

"My—my shoosies. I can't go outside without them," she explained, glancing up at him warily upon hearing the sudden change in his voice.

The Joker scoffed and rolled his eyes, and, before he even knew what he was doing, suddenly dipped down to scoop her up in his arms. He adjusted her so that her legs dangled over his abdomen and his arm was wrapped tightly under her knees, leaving her to sit on his forearm. She pressed her lips together and awkwardly held her bear in her lap as the man holding her strode out of the apartment and into the frigid air, snow shifting beneath his shoes.

Taylor was immediately mesmerized by the winter wonderland around them, and despite her initial hesitation, started to clap her hands in delight, clutching her bear closer to her as she giggled excitedly. "Do you see all this snow, Mr. J?" she asked eagerly, staring at the white powder in amazement. "I really like it," she gushed.

The Joker didn't respond, and instead, tightened his grasp around her as his shoes met the slick and icy pavement.

"Where are all the polar bears, Mr. J?" came Taylor's sudden, inquiring voice. "I read a book that said polar bears live in the snow," she explained, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes as she studied the Joker carefully from up close. She let her eyes openly roam over the thick, braided tissue of his scars as she talked. "Are they all sleeping in their igloos?"

He didn't answer her once again, thinking that maybe if he didn't she would stop asking all these nonsensical questions. Instead, he continued walking, his eyes darting left and right, making sure that he wasn't being watched. He really should have waited until evening to pull off this little escapade, but in all honesty, he just didn't have the patience for it. He was very . . . _curious_ to find this Durante character so he could find out who this man who wore a "black mask" was.

And more importantly, why this man who wore a "black mask" wanted him dead in the first place. The Joker had been locked up in Arkham for the past three months, and for all the people of Gotham knew, the Joker had simply disappeared after his escape and left Gotham for good. He hadn't shown his face ever since escaping and hadn't been causing any trouble . . . so why was somebody so adamant about wanting him dead? Unless they knew he really wasn't gone in the first place?

That was an interesting concept, something he would definitely have to ponder at a later time. The Joker hoped that this "black masked" character wasn't going to interfere with his plans to bring Batman back into the spotlight.

Wait a second . . .

The man in the "black mask" . . .

It couldn't be . . . _Batman_ . . . _could_ it?

The Joker's steps involuntarily slowed as he thought over the prospect, his mind suddenly whirling and turning at frantic speeds. _It couldn't be Batman,_ he thought; Batman wouldn't have hired a mob boss to kill him.

But then again, Batman never killed anyone. Sure, he may injure them a little, but he never _killed_ them. Was this Batman's way of getting rid of him for good, without killing the clown himself?

Why would Batman _do_ that?

No . . . no. It just didn't make sense. The Joker knew Batman too well. Batman . . . he wouldn't do that. The people of Gotham may think that Batman was a coldblooded killer, murdering Harvey Dent and all, but the Joker knew better than that.

Batman was too weak to _kill._

But if the man in the "black mask" wasn't Batman, then who was it?

"You're so strong," Taylor suddenly commented, breaking the Joker out of his whirlwind of thoughts. Her small hand moved to encompass his upper arm, but she quickly discovered that she couldn't even wrap her fingers around it.

Showing no outwards signs of even acknowledging the fact that she had spoken, he set her on the ground once the two of them had reached the car and then proceeded to brush the snow off the windshield. Taylor's legs wobbled slightly and she shifted uncomfortably as water seeped through the rubber padding on the bottom of her footsie pajamas.

Once the Joker had cleared all the windows of snow and ice, he bent down to remove her backpack, pushing the heavy object off her shoulders as Taylor's teeth began to chatter. "It's cold," she whispered, studying the Joker's dark eyes as he slid her backpack off her shoulders and opened the car door, chucking the item into the backseat.

He placed his hands under her arms and then lifted her into the passenger seat, none-too-gently dropping her into it. Placing his hands on the seat, he leaned over her so he could press the button on the driver's side door to pop open the trunk. Once it opened, he went over to the back of the car and pushed aside random objects until he found what he was looking for. When he returned, he carelessly threw the object into her lap.

It was a blanket.

He put his hand on the top of the car to support his weight, the door behind his back, and leaned down to look at her. "Better?" he questioned, raising his brows. He didn't want her complaining the whole time about how cold the car was, so he figured he might as well solve the problem now, especially seeing as how the heater didn't work.

Taylor situated the oversized blanket so it was draped over her legs and then pulled it up to her chin. "Yes," she replied after a moment. "Thank you Mr. J," she said bashfully, snuggling farther into the blanket and turning a shade of pink under his scrutinizing gaze. He silently nodded and was about to shut the door when Taylor stopped him. "Wait!" He raised his brows expectantly, his hand resting on the top of the door, ready to close it. "Aren't you gonna put me in my car seat?" she squeaked, sounding worried.

Growling low in his throat, he rolled his eyes and bent down into the car so he could lean over her to buckle her seatbelt. Once she was all strapped in, he placed both of his hands on either side of her seat and glared darkly at her, challenging her with his eyes and daring her to question him further.

"Oh—okay," she stuttered, obviously receiving the silent message he had sent through his eyes.

After staring at her for a moment, he suddenly flashed her a dirty grin, amused by her feebleness. He brought up a gloved hand to the side of her face and roughly patted her cheek with it, laughing. "You're a _riot_, girl." He was still grinning as he pushed himself up off her seat and slammed her door shut. Taylor had no idea what a "riot" was, but she hoped it was something good.

A few moments later, the Joker had slid into the driver's seat and turned on the car. It sputtered for a second but eventually came to life, and he couldn't help but feel relieved. The last thing he wanted to do was waste his time looking for another car he could . . . _borrow_. He couldn't call a cab, especially not with Taylor with him, and he didn't have the patience to wait for one of his boys to come and pick him up, either. He hated having to depend on other people to do things for him, mostly because other people always ended screwing everything up. Best to do everything yourself. No mistakes that way.

Shifting the gear out of park and into drive, the Joker sped off down the street, the rubber tires sliding effortlessly across the icy asphalt as they sped away from the apartment building. Taylor watched in silent interest as skyscrapers and buildings from the other side of the harbor all passed in a blur of tall, looming gray steel beneath the overcast sky.

She smiled to herself as she snuggled deeper into the passenger seat, pulling the heavy blanket up to her chin once more and folding her arms around her bear. She was so glad for a change in scenery. She hadn't been out of the house in a long time, and it felt good to ride in a car again. She hadn't done that in a while either. Since her mother was always working, Taylor didn't get to go out much. And even then the two of them had always taken a cab, which had usually smelt awful and the seats were always dirty and ripped. She didn't particularly like them, to say the least.

Pursing her lips together, she suddenly turned her head away from the window and looked at the Joker. "Are we gonna cross that bridge over there?" She pointed out her window to a large suspension bridge a few miles away that connected the Narrows with Gotham City.

"Mhm," he replied distractedly, his dark eyes directed on the road in front of him, both hands resting on the bottom of the steering wheel.

"Why?"

The Joker felt his tongue along the contours of his mouth, suddenly wishing that Taylor would just _shut up_ and stop asking questions. "Because we are going to Goth-am," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Why?"

He was silent for a moment, contemplating the choices he could answer her with in his head. "We're just gonna see an old . . . friend." He narrowed his eyes at the road in front of him. Durante Maroni wasn't really an "old friend," but Taylor didn't need to know that small, skewered detail.

She cocked her head to the side curiously. "Do you have a lot of friends, Mr. J?"

The Joker worked his mouth from side to side, his eyes locked onto the road ahead. "No," he said unblinkingly, his voice as rough as sandpaper. How the hell do you tell a little girl that you kill people for a living and that you're the most wanted man in the whole _city_?

"Oh," she replied, biting her bottom lip. "Well," she looked towards him with wide eyes, "Teddy wants to be your friend," she explained cordially.

The Joker couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his ruined mouth. "He does, does he?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, still gazing up at him.

He smirked to himself and drove in silence, the back streets of the Narrows strangely empty despite the occasional homeless person trying to keep warm in a pile of snow. He found it odd that no one was out, especially considering the time of day. It was nearly rush hour, so where _was _everybody?

As he thought it over in his head, the answer suddenly occurred to him when he passed by an old restaurant and saw a wreath hanging on the door.

Well,_ that_ was why no one was out.

It was _Christmas_. How could he have forgotten?

Oh Christmas; the "joyous" holiday where families put aside their differences and came together to share presents and little frosted snowman cookies and hugs and fake smiles and disgusting fruit cake and . . . _love_.

Ha. _Love. _

What a sick, twisted foray of feelings.

The Joker didn't believe in love. It didn't really even _exist_ in his mind, though he knew it was out there, somewhere. He simply believed that nobody in the world had really, truly experienced it yet. Some people spent their whole lives searching for their "soul mate" or their "true love", and then, once they found them, they continued their never ending search for that "happily ever after" ending. An unobtainable goal, ultimately. Funny thing was, if their love was _really_ real, they wouldn't have to search for that storybook ending to begin with. Their love would be enough and they wouldn't _need _anything else. But that really wasn't the case, was it? No one was ever genuinely satisfied, nobody's life was perfect despite their continuous strive for it.

In the end, "love" —in its most diluted and common-found state—was a sign of weakness. A fickle emotion that would betray you without so much as a second glance. So many people were imbued with the false idea that love was "wonderful" and "beautiful" and "exciting".

Yeah _right._

Call him cynical, but the Joker viewed love as an emotion for the weak-hearted. It was for the people who were dependent upon others for their own survival. Love was for the callow, the needy . . . the people who had nothing better to do with their time than to just waste it away pretending that they cared when they _didn't._ Love was a fantasy, an escape from the way things _truly _were—which was ultimately a dark and disgusting reality.

And in this city, that was_ exactly_ how things were. Dark and disgusting.

And he _liked_ it that way.

"Mr. J," Taylor suddenly called, breaking him out of his thoughts, "my head really hurts," she said with a furrowed brow.

"It's gonna be like that for a few days, doll face," he replied quietly, finally breaking his own silence. His voice was low and sounded slightly off to his own ears, so he coughed to clear his throat.

Taylor didn't reply, but out of the corner of his eye he could see her frowning and gently rubbing her hand against the back of her head. "Can't you make it better?"

He decided not to reply as he drove down the ice-slicked street, making the ride silent save for the quiet hum of the car. As he drove, he became vaguely aware of the fact that Taylor was staring fixatedly at him. He shot her a brief glance out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "See somethin' you like, baby doll?" he asked sardonically, shifting in his seat and both of his hands still gripping the wheel.

Taylor bowed her head to glance at her bear and then looked back up to look at the Joker once more. "Teddy likes you," she said bashfully, a small, unsure smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "He—he wants to know if—if you like him . . . too . . . ." she trailed off.

The Joker ran his tongue over the inside of his left cheek, feeling the rigid, uneven flesh of his scars from the inside. "I migh_t_," he replied cryptically. He knew that Taylor wasn't _really_ talking about her bear; she wanted to know if he liked _her_.

His answer seemed to placate all her questions for the time being, and for the next three hours, the car ride was surprisingly silent.

Taylor sat perfectly still in her seat, cuddling her blanket and her bear as she stared out the window interestedly. They had long since passed over the bridge and left the Narrows, and were now right in the heart of Gotham, in the City Hall district. The Joker glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it read 4:48; about three more hours to go.

"Mr. J?" Taylor's soft voice suddenly broke through the silence and she turned in her seat to face him.

"Hm?" he asked, taking his eyes off the empty road in front of him for just a moment to look at her.

She looked bored and sleepy, and her wet hair had now completely dried and was now just a tangled mess of long, blonde locks. "Teddy wants to eat."

He inwardly groaned. He wished she would stop indirectly referring to herself through her bear.

"Why won't Teddy tell me that _himself_?" He hissed the last word through his teeth.

Taylor looked slightly surprised by his question, and she stared at her bear as if he would provide her with an answer. "Well . . . he doesn't like to talk to strangers," she explained stoically, carefully thinking over her words.

"But I thought we were _friends_?" he quickly countered, throwing her a sideways glance to see her reaction.

Taylor huffed exasperatedly, having nothing to say back to him. After a moment, she finally replied. "Aren't you hungry too?" she whined.

"No."

_Pause. _

" . . . Oh." She licked her lips and sat back in her seat.

After several more moments of silence, Taylor suddenly giggled unexpectedly.

The Joker's brows furrowed and he looked over to her. Seeing his confused expression, she was quick to elucidate. "My tummy made a funny noise," she giggled again, her eyes shining brightly.

"Very funny," he replied dryly, glancing uninterestedly at the speedometer. By chance, his eyes happened to roam over the fuel gauge, and he noticed that it was low. Glancing around him first, he suddenly pulled the car off into a short, narrow alleyway and turned it off.

Taylor looked around confusedly at the snow piled high up against the alley walls and the dead end straight in front of them where a large, green trash canister sat. "Are we at your friend's house?" she asked, unsure.

Without answering her, he suddenly opened the door and pushed a button to open the trunk before sliding out of his seat. As an afterthought, he turned back towards the door and leaned down, looking at Taylor sternly. "Stay _here_," he ordered.

"Where are you—?"

The Joker shut the door in her face before she could finish her sentence.

As an eerie silence settled over the interior of the car, panic quickly began to wash over Taylor and her breathing quickened. She frantically twisted in her seat, irritably pushing her seatbelt behind her as she struggled to look out the back window, eager to see where the Joker was going.

"Mr. J?" she called out hoarsely.

Her throat suddenly felt dry and tight as her eyes darted around the outsides of the car, not spotting him anywhere. She couldn't see out the back window because the hood of the trunk was open and blocking her view.

Whimpering nervously, she began to cry.

Outside the car, the Joker had retrieved a red container full of gasoline from the trunk and was filling up the car with it, stretching his long legs as he did so. It felt good to finally be out of the constricting confines of the car. Holding the plastic gas can in one hand, he rocked back on his heels, stretching his legs, and looking up at the sky as he did so. The clouds were beginning to darken just over the horizon, and it wasn't because it was getting later in the evening.

_Bad storm tonight,_ he thought, running his tongue along the outer rim of his bottom lip.

Once the red canister was empty, he closed the nozzle and put the object back in the trunk of the car before shutting it. Going back to the driver's side door and opening it, he slid inside once again. He started the car without even glancing at Taylor and put his hand on the back of her headrest as he began to back up out of the alley. Only when he heard a loud sniffle did he crane his neck to look at her.

There were fresh tears streaming down her cheeks and her green eyes were glistening, her face contorted in a sad frown.

Grimacing, he stopped the car. "What's the matter with you?" He wasn't feeling sympathetic for her, nor was he showing her concern. He was just flat out _pissed_ _off. _Little kids were so damn _fickle_. Smiling one minute and crying their eyes out the next. _She's probably upset because I slammed the door in her face. _

She swallowed thickly and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her palm, suddenly becoming very nervous as she stared into the Joker's black eyes. "You left," she said through a hiccupped sob.

"Your poin_t_?" he snapped irritably.

Taylor hiccupped again and folded her trembling hands in her lap, wanting nothing more than to just throw herself at the Joker and bury herself in his arms. She just wanted him to hold her and assure her that everything was alright. But somehow she sensed that jumping into his arms would just make him more angry, which was something she did not want to do, if only for her own safety and well-being. "I thought you weren't going to come back like my—my mommy."

The Joker stared at her with a blankly, slowly beginning to realize just how attached and dependent she was becoming of him. It was . . . strange. No one had ever depended on him for _anything_. No one had actually ever _needed_ him like she did. He found the very thought of it weirdly disconcerting as he watched her gaze drop back into her lap.

Not wanting to make her any promises he couldn't—_wouldn't_ keep—he turned away from her and continued to back out of the alley. Once back on the street, he dropped his foot onto the accelerator pedal and kept his eyes on the road, speeding down it at speeds over sixty-five miles per hour.

Letting his thoughts stray from Taylor, he leaned his head over the steering wheel and looked up at the sky once more. Just as he had suspected, it _was_ darkening with storm clouds, and they loomed low and dangerously over the road ahead of them. Taylor seemed to notice them too.

"Do—do you think my mommy got lost?" She was staring at her lap, carefully interlacing her small fingers with one another.

_No_, he wanted to tell her, or, _she's gone for good, _he should have said, but simply for the sake of saving himself from more of her tears, he didn't. "Maybe," he answered instead.

Taylor sighed heavily and tenderly touched the back of her head, gently fingering the still-fresh wound there from when she had been knocked unconscious.

As the sky darkened and the air inside the car got cooler, Taylor began to slowly drift off to sleep, her small body wrapped snugly in the blanket and her head resting against the side of the door just beneath the window.

The Joker had long since left the inner city and was now traveling on a small, paved, winding road through the countryside on the outskirts of Gotham. Despite it only being six o'clock, the sky was a dark shade of charcoal gray and black storm clouds loomed threateningly over the barren and desolate fields on the right side of the car. On the opposite side of the road was a heavily wooded area, upon which lay a myriad of tall trees, all of which were covered in snow.

All of these things passed by in a blur as the Joker sped down the road at dangerous speeds, intent on reaching his destination quickly and before the weather got bad.

Nearly half an hour later, after passing countless open fields, old, barbed-wire fences, and scattered, abandoned barns, the Joker now found himself in a motel parking lot. It was shrouded by trees in a heavily wooded area, just outside of Aporo Park, and could hardly be seen from the road if you weren't looking carefully enough.

Driving slowly through the snow, the Joker pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot of the _The Sharatan Motel_. The big, bright blue neon sign had some of its letters burnt out and read something more along the lines of _**Th**__e __**S**__h__**a**__ra__**tan **__M__**otel**_.

Ha. What a _bad _joke. They should really get that fixed.

After shutting off the car, the Joker stared tiredly at the old, concrete building. The white plaster building was cracked and stained with dirt. The wooden shutters that adorned either side of the windows was a bright and annoying shade of aqua, while white, plastic lawn chairs were seated outside under the overhead porch. The whole place just looked incredibly tacky and severely outdated. Even so, the Joker knew that he was definitely in the right place.

Hearing a small moan from beside him, he turned to look at Taylor to watch her just as she waking from her nap, her body curled up snuggly in the blanket he had given her and her bear still clutched in her arms. She never let go out that little thing, did she?

She swallowed thickly and looked around confusedly. The Joker watched as her eyelashes fluttered wildly, also noticing that her cheeks were pink from being pressed up against the side of the door for so long.

"Are we at your friend's house?" she asked quietly, her eyes tiredly roaming over the dashboard, examining the surroundings outside the car.

"We'll visit him tomorrow," the Joker replied, taking the keys out of the ignition and getting out of the car. He walked around the front of it and then opened Taylor's door for her.

As she was met with a blast of cold air, she winced. "Where are we?" she asked tiredly and through half lidded eyes, slowly pushing the blanket off her legs and to the floor as she waited for the Joker's response.

He swiped his tongue over his lips as he leaned down over her seat to undo her seatbelt. "The Satan Motel," was his only reply, and he hoisted Taylor up out of her seat and into his arms. It had just begun to snow again and the white, icy flakes stung her skin as they were whipped wildly around in the air. She wrapped her arms around the Joker's neck and rested her chin on his shoulder while the frigid wind sharply bit at her skin and stung her eyes, making them water. Frowning, she buried her face in the crook of his neck as a way to shield her eyes from the biting cold, finding solace in the warmth of his bare skin.

The Joker momentarily stiffened at feeling her humid exhales of breath against his neck. A second later, however, he relaxed and began to trample through the snow and towards the entrance of the motel.

Now standing next to the glow of two soda machines by the front entrance, he opened the door and stepped inside. Warmth immediately encompassed the both of them and he felt Taylor lift her head from his neck to gaze about the dimly lit room.

It was small and poorly decorated, that much was clear. There was a peach-colored floral couch on one wall and a picture of a sailboat behind it on pale, orange walls. A stack of magazines rested on the glass coffee table in front of the couch and a small, glass bowl sat next to them for cigarette butts. Behind them, there was the sound of droning voices, and the Joker turned to see a small black television set sitting on top of a stand in the corner, the antenna on top of it twisted at an awkward angle. 'It's a Wonderful Life' was playing on _TCM_.

Bending down to place Taylor on the floor, she slid easily out of his arms and looked around the room interestedly as she regained her balance on the floor, keeping close to the Joker's side.

On the other side of the room was a tall white desk with a single tissue box and a stack of business cards set neatly on top of it, and the Joker strode towards it. Taylor followed closely at his heels, clutching his pinstriped pants tightly while her other hand held Teddy close to her side.

Seeing that no one was at the front desk and noticing that there was a light on in the back room, the Joker cleared his throat loudly.

There was a rustling of fabric and someone mumbling, and only a moment later a man appeared dressed in brown slacks and a dark green polo. "May I help—_oh_."

The man looked drowsy from lack of sleep, but his features instantly changed when he recognized that it was the Joker who was standing in the lobby of his motel. He ran a hand over his short, crew-cut hair, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "I was expecting you earlier . . . sir."

"Yeah, well, I'm here now," he replied, suddenly recalling when he had told Taylor almost the exact same thing just earlier that day. "Is that a problem?" he added darkly, his hand wanting to reach inside his jacket just so he could feel that familiar cold steel beneath his fingertips.

"Uh, no . . . no," the man faltered, "not at all. I'll uh, I'll get your room key and be right back, alright?" The Joker nodded and impatiently watched him leave the room. Once he was gone, he turned and straightened out his jacket, brushing the snow off the lapels of his suit.

Taylor was still clutching onto his pant leg and was also half leaning on him for support, her face pressed up against his thigh and her eyes closed. "Tired?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he looked down at her.

She only nodded in reply and wound her arms more tightly around his leg, sighing heavily.

"Well too bad," he said lowly, bending down to roughly pull her off his leg. She stumbled backwards with a hurt expression on her face and frowned dejectedly as she bent down to pick up her teddy bear.

The Joker was about to reprimand her again when, without warning, a blast of cold air suddenly swept through the room and the front door burst open.

_Well, this ought'a be interesting. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Taylor's blonde locks were swept into a frenzy as freezing air rushed in through the opened door and enveloped the room in an icy blanket. Small, white flakes of snow lazily fluttered to the carpet as the new visitor stepped inside, lugging two suitcases behind him. The visitor closed the door and let out a heavy sigh.

_This ought'a be interesting, _the Joker thought with a smirk, examining the man who had just stepped into the room.

He appeared to be fairly young—couldn't be more than thirty, at the most—and was wearing long khaki shorts, Reebok sneakers, and a red, short-sleeved button up. Looking him over, the Joker immediately could tell that the man obviously wasn't from around here; that, or he was suffering from some kind of weird summer withdrawal.

The man hadn't looked up since he had stepped into the room, and the Joker was weighing his options on how to handle the situation. Even though his face wasn't done up in its usual greasepaint, he was still recognizable. And even if this man really wasn't from Gotham like the Joker was beginning to suspect, he still most likely knew who the Clown Prince of Crime was. The Joker's reign of chaos wasn't subjected to just one city. People all across the States knew who he was or had at least heard of him at one point in time. It was safe to say that as notorious as he was, the Joker would most definitely be going down in history books.

As the man shook snowflakes out of his tousled, jet black hair, the Joker reached his gloved hand inside his pocket and loosely gripped the handle of his switchblade, shifting it between his fingers as it remained hidden in his jacket.

When the visitor finally raised his head, he looked straight up into the eyes of the Joker, and the latter man stilled his movements and stared levelly back, his eyes narrowed into slits. He licked his lips and was about to extract his knife when the other man suddenly spoke.

"Hey there," he said warmly, his voice deep but friendly as he offered the Joker a tired smile.

The Joker didn't respond, slightly intrigued that the man obviously had no idea he was a psychopathic murder and mastermind criminal. He watched with a hooded gaze as the man's eyes wandered curiously over his strange, garish attire. His eyes trailed over the Joker's bare, scarred mouth and then suddenly downward, noticing for the first time that there was a little girl cowering behind the Joker's leg.

"Hey," the man offered Taylor a little wave and flashed her a handsome smile.

In response, Taylor blushed furiously and ducked her head back behind the Joker's leg, bashfully hiding behind him once more.

An awkward silence followed as the Joker stared the man down with dark, narrowed eyes. Shifting uncomfortably, the man brushed some snowflakes off his tanned arms and gestured towards the Joker as he began to talk. "So . . . you from around here?" he asked conversationally.

The Joker tongued along the inside of his mouth for a moment, silently glaring at the man. "Yea_h_," he finally drawled, working his mouth from side to side as he stood stiffly in the middle of the room, Taylor still clinging to his leg.

The man nodded his head. "I'm actually just coming back from Australia," he said. "I was on my home to Michigan when the plane had to make an emergency landing here in Gotham. Kind of a bummer with Christmas today and everything." He frowned and stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling entirely out of place wearing khaki shorts in the dead of winter. When he looked back up, the Joker was still staring at him. "So far from what I've seen though, Gotham is a beautiful city."

_You've obviously never been in the Narrows, _the Joker wanted to tell him. Instead, he remained silent; the incessant droning of voices from _It's a Wonderful Life_ filling the void of quietness in the background.

"_What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary."_

The other man cleared his throat and looked all around the room, slightly embarrassed that his attempt at conversation had failed. His eyes seemed to take in everything at once as he searched the small lobby. "Do you happen to know where the manager of this place is?" He glanced down at the small girl for a moment, noticing that she was peaking at him shyly from behind the Joker's leg. She blinked her long lashes and felt her cheeks flush when she noticed he was looking back at her.

"He'll be back in a minu_t_e," the Joker replied through slightly gritted teeth, his voice unusually low. He wasn't used to situations like this where people didn't recognize him. He had masqueraded around the city and had pretended to be somebody else before, but never had he been 'masquerading' as _himself_ and not had people cower back in fear like this man. It was certainly strange, being dressed as himself as he was now (minus the greasepaint,) and pretending to be someone who didn't murder people and blow up buildings for a living. He had to refrain himself from grabbing his knife, pinning the man to the wall, and asking "wanna know how I got these scars?" The mental image was starting to look entirely too enticing . . . .

After a small amount of silence had passed, the Joker's unwavering gaze dropped from the man and he looked down at Taylor. She was still hiding behind him and using his leg to shield herself from the other man's view.

_When did she become so fucking clingy?_ he wondered to himself. He didn't understand her at all. One minute she didn't want to be around him—had even tried to _hide_ from him, in fact—and the next minute she couldn't bear to let him out of her sight. She was entirely too hands-on as well, which was another thing he wasn't used to. People didn't _touch_ him; it just wasn't something you did unless you wanted to get your fingers chopped off. Taylor, on the other hand, was unaware of such grisly dangers, always clinging to his leg or secretly wanting to hold his hand. She needed the physical contact only he could provide her with, wanting to ensure herself that he wouldn't leave or abandon her when she wasn't looking.

It irked him that she had become so dependant of him for protection. He was_ not _her babysitter, and, annoyed by her antics, he roughly peeled her arms away from his legs and moved away from her to stand by the front desk. The Joker could feel the man's eyes on him and he could only assume that the man was probably a little confused as to why he had just so blatantly ignored Taylor. He licked his lips and turned his back to the counter, leaning against it and folding his arms loosely across his chest and narrowing his eyes as he watched the little girl with a cold, calculating gaze.

She looked small and vulnerable, standing there in the middle of the room in her bright red footsy pajamas and tangled long hair and arms folded awkwardly across her stomach, hugging her sides. He watched with hooded eyes as the other man's gaze drifted towards Taylor as well, her green eyes meeting his.

Glancing first at the Joker and seeing the strange, dark gaze he had glued to the little girl and finding it slightly disconcerting, the man suddenly felt a tinge of compassion. Leaving his bags behind him, he very slowly walked towards her and knelt down. "What's your name, sweetie?" He smiled at her and folded his hands in between his bent knees.

The Joker felt his chest tighten uncomfortably when he saw Taylor smiling back at the man, something he rarely ever saw her do. "My name's Taylor," she said, very quickly warming up to the new stranger and already charmed by his handsome features.

The man grinned at her again and then suddenly leaned in close. The Joker narrowed his eyes and tried to look nonchalant but was secretly watching with rapt attention. "Wanna see something neat?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.

Taylor pressed her lips together and nodded her head slowly.

Shifting closer to her and lifting his hand to her ear, the man suddenly twirled his fingers. Taylor flinched and pulled away awkwardly just as he drew back his hand only to reveal a shiny, silver quarter.

Taylor was exhilarated by the trick and bashfully tried to hide her growing smile. "How did you _do_ that?"

He smiled back at her, his eyes warm and full of amusement. "It's magic," the Joker heard him whisper.

_Damn._

If the Joker would have known that Taylor was so easily pleased by magic tricks, he would have shown her a few of his own. All he needed was a pencil.

"Can you teach me how to do it?" She leaned in close and bit her bottom lip while the Joker looked on angrily. He didn't know why he was suddenly finding himself slightly flustered over the fact that Taylor was so intrigued by this other man. What did she see in him, anyway?

He watched as Taylor smiled cutely at the man, even going so far as to introduce him to her teddy bear and then go on to say that they two of them were both very, very hungry.

The other man even went so far as to shake the teddy bear's hand and tell him his name and then give her a small bag of peanuts that he had acquired from the plane.

His name was Jacob.

Watching Taylor warm up so quickly to this other man was irritating. Thinking back to their own first encounter, Taylor had been terrified of him—though that could have been due to his appearance—but either way, it bothered him. He didn't quite know why, because he wasn't . . . _wasn't _jealous . . . but he still didn't like the exchange between the two of them that was happening now.

Before he could intervene, however, the hotel manager finally stepped out of the back room with the Joker's room key in hand. "Sorry about the wait . . ." he trailed off as he came closer to the counter, letting his eyes wander over the top of it and noticing that the little girl and another man were kneeling on the floor. "I didn't know we had another guest," he mumbled, giving the Joker a wary, sidelong glance. "Is he with you?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

The Joker licked his lips and roughly extracted the room key out of the manager's hands, his gaze still locked onto Taylor and Jacob. "Absolutely no_t_-uh," he replied sharply. He watched as Jacob stood up from the floor and straightened to his full height, looking at the manager and him curiously. Running his tongue over his top row of teeth, the Joker swiftly turned back to the manager. "You'll uh, contact me when you have the _information_I requeste_d_?" His voice had dropped several octaves and he dipped his head low, looking up at the man from beneath his brows.

"I'll have somebody get it to you as soon as I can . . . sir."

The Joker smiled sardonically. "Good boy."

He loudly slapped his hand against the counter then, signifying that the conversation was over and nearly startling Taylor out of her skin. He moved across the room in two strides and scooped her up into his arms in one easy motion.

He nodded his head 'goodnight' in an underhanded and sarcastic manner to Jacob and then strode out of the lobby and towards the hallway on his left.

"Merry Christmas," Jacob called after them.

Inwardly, the Joker scoffed and kept walking. It had been _years_ since someone had wished him a 'Merry Christmas.'

He could feel Taylor moving her hands around his neck to wave goodbye to Jacob and he resisted the urge to slap her because of it.

"I like him," she gushed quietly as they turned down a dimly lit and narrow hallway, the walls painted an ugly shade of puce, with dark, maroon red doors lining each side of the corridor.

The Joker snorted. "_Why_?" he asked incredulously.

"Because Mr. J . . . I think he's a magishin!" she whispered excitedly. "Did—did you see what he did? He pulled a . . . a . . . a _penny_ out of my ear! I don't even know how it got there, but he pulled it out and it didn't even hurt!" she rambled on quickly. "I didn't know a penny could fit in there!" She was out of breath by the time she had finished, and the Joker was standing in front of one of the doors at the very end of the long hallway.

He simply stared ahead of him with a blank expression and didn't acknowledge her excited chatter as he slid the keycard into its designed slot above the door handle. She rarely said so much in one sentence, and now that she was beginning to speak more it was starting to annoy him. Or maybe it was starting to annoy him because she was excited about someone he didn't particularly like . . . .

Regardless, he instinctively gripped her tighter as the door clicked open and revealed a pitch black room. He flicked on the light switch and closed the door, letting Taylor slide out of his arms and to the floor as a pale, white light filled the room. The smell of cigarettes and cleaning disinfectant instantly invaded his nostrils, and he scrunched his nose in distaste as he pocketed the keycard in his jacket. The place reeked of bleach.

There was a small, cramped bathroom directly to his right and place to hang coats and stash suitcases to his left in the tiny hallway. Two queen-sized beds sat in the middle of the room, the headboards pushed up against the wall and a small nightstand resting in between them, separating the two. Old and cheap looking wallpaper adorned the walls, a random pattern of small, pastel colored triangles scattered across the white background.

The heavy, quilted blankets that covered both beds were a washed-too-many-times mint green color, and were each topped with two white pillows. The room was obviously meant to give off a cheerful and airy looking feel but instead had the opposite effect, looking more along the lines of a designer's failed attempt at recapturing the eighties.

Taylor didn't seem to notice the odd décor and instead looked around the small room warily as if the two of them were in a place where they were not supposed to be. She stayed close to the Joker's side, unsure of their surroundings.

"Damn," he muttered quietly after a moment. He scratched the back of his neck irritably, realizing that he had left everything in the car. "I'll be right back," he announced shortly, opening the door quickly and practically knocking Taylor into the coat closet in the process. After the door closed, he stood on the other side of it for a minute to make sure she wasn't going to start crying like she did last time he had left her alone. Satisfied when he heard only silence, he trudged back down the hall, his long coat flapping against the backs of his knees as he walked.

As he made his way down the dimly-lit hall towards the lobby, he began to reflect over all the events that had taken place in the past couple of days. Had it really been just four days ago that he had met Taylor? And had it been only yesterday that he had murdered that one assassin in cold blood? He smirked to himself as the memory flooded his mind. Speaking of_ that_ though . . . now that this 'black masked' mobster guy was after him, the Joker slowly came to realize that his plans for Taylor were going to have to be put on hold until he could take care of this little problem—permanently.

It didn't bother him at all to know that there were people out there in the high ranks of the criminal underworld that wanted him dead—there were _lots _of people who wanted him dead. Numbers like that were just too numerous to count. No, what really irked him was the fact that the guy who had hired the assassin thought that he, _the Joker_, could be taken down so _easily_. How _insulting_. He was just going to have to teach this obviously uniformed, masked character how things were done around here. Gotham was _his_ city, and anybody who tried to tell or prove him otherwise would simply have to be taken down a notch. They would be _shoved_ off their pedestal of self-proclaimed power and the faces ground into the dirt. The mob didn't have any _real_ power over the city anyway, crime or otherwise. They only pretended they did and _tried_ to act intimidating. The Joker smirked. They were all phonies, the lot of them. All cowards putting on a brave façade and hiding behind their masks of _money_. Money, though, could only get you so far in the city of Gotham. He knew that better than anyone.

In the lobby, the lights had darkened considerably and the television set had been turned off. The electric blue glow from the neon clock on the wall read 9:27 as the Joker stepped out into the frigid winter air.

Once outside, he quickly made his way to the car and extracted everything he thought he would need. He grabbed his box from the trunk and at the last minute remembered to grab Taylor's yellow pack from the backseat as well.

He locked the car door and made his way back to the motel entrance, his eyes scanning the parking lot through the flurry of snow and darkness. He noted with curious interest that the cab that Jacob had taken to get here was still parked by the entrance and the driver still inside.

He squinted his eyes through the darkness, trying to get a better view of the man inside when he suddenly realized that the driver was staring straight back at him.

Without warning, the engine suddenly came to life and the tires screeched against the slick pavement as he spun out of the parking lot and took off down the road, disappearing underneath the thick, snow-covered pine trees that lined either side of the road.

_Hmm._

The Joker licked his lips and quickly headed back inside. When he opened the door to the room, Taylor's head suddenly popped out from behind the heavy blackout drapes adorning the window, looking relieved.

He smirked at her as he placed his belongings on the small desk opposite the wall from the two beds. He let Taylor's backpack drop to the floor. "Were you watching me from the window?" he asked quietly and without looking at her, his voice flat.

She seemed embarrassed by his question and didn't answer right away. "I was just looking at the snowflakes . . . ." She stole a glance up at him only to find that he was now staring fixatedly at her as he slipped his arms out of his heavy, purple jacket. He hung it on the back of the desk chair and then proceeded to remove his gloves with his teeth. Taylor swallowed. "Do—do you want to see what I drew on the window?" she asked hopefully.

When he finished with his gloves, he tossed them on the desk and stared at her as he rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. "No." And with that, he grabbed a small, black zippered bag out of his box on the desk, and then turned towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Taylor sighed heavily. She felt there was nothing she could do to make him happy. All she wanted to do was make him _like_ her more. She thought she could impress him if she could show him all the neat things she could do, like draw pretty flowers on the frosted glass with her fingertips and tell him _hil-har-ee-os_ stories about her kitty cat named Fluffy. She didn't understand it . . . didn't he like those kind of things?

Her troubles were soon forgotten only a moment later when she suddenly noticed that her backpack was lying on the floor. Excited, she pranced over to it and unzipped the top. Her Crayola crayons came spilling out and she hurriedly picked up the scattered objects off the carpet and placed them on top of the desk, hardly able to even look over the top of it because of her small height. Rummaging through her backpack, she then pulled out an old, weathered notebook and set that on top of the desk as well. Maybe she could impress Mr. J with her really good coloring skills? And he _would_ be impressed too, she just knew it. She prided herself on the fact that she _always _colored inside the lines.

Pushing the wooden chair closer to the desk, she awkwardly climbed up onto it and seated herself on her knees, placing her elbows on top of the desk.

_I'll show him,_ she thought as she looked determinedly at the white sheet of paper in front of her, pressing her lips together firmly. Grabbing a Tickle Me Pink crayon, she began scribbling furiously, her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her work.

She had just finished drawing a very nice picture of herself when a sharp rap suddenly sounded on the door. Taylor nearly jumped out of her skin at the sounds and dropped her crayon to the floor in fright. But before she could react, the bathroom door suddenly opened and the Joker stepped out, his back towards her as he peered through the peephole of the main door. A second later he opened it and silently slipped out into the hallway, leaving the door open a sliver behind. Taylor listened closely, hearing what sounded like another man's voice speaking in a hushed tone.

Curious, she slid off her chair and tiptoed towards the door, pausing when she was close enough to peer through the crack.

"You goin' tonight?" Taylor looked up to see a fat, balding man dressed in grungy-looking clothes talking with the Joker, the latter of whom was now gripping a manila folder between his fingers.

"What I do and what I _don't_ do is really nothing you need to _concern_yourself with." The Joker stepped closer and dipped his head low to be level with the shorter man. "You ge_t _me?" He accentuated the 't' sharply and caressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Yeah—yeah . . . I got it."

"_G__ooooo__d_." A dark smile stretched his scars as he clapped the heavyset man roughly on the shoulder, spinning him around towards the entrance of the hallway. "Now get out of here before I decide I want some _real live_ ornaments for my Christmas tree."

The man uttered a fumbling goodbye and took off quickly down the hallway, throwing glances over his shoulder at every two steps.

The Joker waited until he had disappeared around the corner before stepping back inside his motel room.

But not before nearly stumbling over Taylor in the process. He looked down at her with narrowed eyes. "Eavesdropping, sweetheart?" He looked down at her as she looked up at him, her eyes scrunched curiously at him. He had white flecks of what looked like some kind of foam around his mouth and Taylor suddenly realized that he had been shaving. She only knew because she had seen people do it on T.V. commercials before, and had seen the white foaming cream.

Ignoring his question, she instead asked one of her own. "Why was that man so big?" she asked in a high, curious voice. "Does he have a_ baby_ in his tummy?"

The Joker stared at her with a bemused expression and genuinely laughed aloud, patting her roughly on the head. "I don't think so, doll," he replied with a smirk, returning to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Left in the room by herself once again by herself, Taylor decided to finish her drawing. It was a good fifteen minutes before the Joker finally emerged from the bathroom once more, and when he did Taylor simply stared dumbfounded at him, too terrified to even move.

He had taken the liberty of reapplying his makeup, feeling that he had gone far too long without it. Needless to say, the paint felt good and familiar against his skin. He felt powerful with it on. Better. Stronger. He _relished_ in the feel of it and couldn't help the eerie smile that crept up his face upon seeing Taylor's frightened expression.

She didn't say anything as she slowly removed herself from the chair and began to back away from him.

She, of course, had seen him with the greasepaint before; he had been wearing it the day they had first met, after all, but the Joker had gone for so long without it that Taylor had nearly forgotten that he had ever worn it in the first place.

He grinned at her, exposing dirty rows of yellowed teeth as he cocked his head to the side. "What's the matter? You scared of me now?"

Taylor pressed her lips together nervously and slowly nodded her head.

"Good," he rumbled. "You _should_ be."

In only a second, all of her crayons and papers were carelessly pushed to the floor and replaced with the manila folder Taylor had just seen a moment ago. The Joker plopped himself down in the chair and quickly tore open the folder, ignoring the frightened green eyes he knew were glued to his back.

Inside the folder was _all_of Durante Maroni's personal information. Everything from his house address and social security number all the way to who his distant relatives were and what his license plate number was. All of this information, plus some. Apparently, he had three kids. Two of them, a teenage girl and an elementary school boy, lived outside of Gotham in the nearby city of Bludhaven with his ex-fiancé Patricia. The other kid, who was actually a twenty-four year-old woman, still lived in Gotham in her own apartment and was working at a men's club as a bartender.

_What a prestigious career choice, _he thought snidely.

As he sifted through the various papers of Durante's personal information, something slightly heavy and cold suddenly passed beneath his fingertips, and he flipped through the papers again until he found a small, metal key.

_Ah, _the _house_ key; just what he had been looking for.

After a few more minutes of silently sifting through the papers and getting to know his future prey a little bit better, he was aware that Taylor had joined him at his side. He was able to ignore her for all of 30 seconds until her hand snuck out overtop the desk to retrieve one of his gloves. Immediately, he slapped her hand away, making her cry out and stumble backwards in surprise.

"Don't _touch _that," he warned, narrowing his eyes at her.

Frightened, especially because of the way his black greasepaint made his eyes look even darker than they really were, she scrambled away from him and hid behind the bed. He rolled his eyes and resumed his work, deciding to let her stay there until she hopefully fell asleep.

And lo and behold, only fifteen minutes later when he got up to check on her, she was still lying on the floor. She had curled herself up into a ball with her teddy bear nestled in her arms, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed a light pink, breathing steadily.

Perfect. Now he wouldn't have to worry about her while he was out running . . . _errands._

Sighing, he bent down and lifted her off the floor so she was cradled in his strong arms. Just as he was about to place her on the bed, he couldn't help but stop himself and _really_ look at her, just for a moment. He stared unabashedly at her features, his eyes roaming over everything and taking note of every little detail. Her mouth was parted slightly and her dark lashes were pressed tightly against her cheeks as she slept, her chest slowly rising and falling with each breath she took. He stood silently for a moment, his head cocked to the side as he held her close to his chest and continued to stare down at her.

She was so . . . _warm_ . . . so real. Even though he had spent nearly five whole days with her, every time he held her in his arms or had any physical contact with her he felt . . . strange. Each time felt more surreal than the last, and he found himself savoring them as best he could—even though he didn't quite know why. It was relief, quite frankly, to be able to hold someone in his arms who wasn't screaming or crying or trying to get away. She was scared of him, yes, but there was also a small part of her that had placed a sort of unspoken trust in him. She had faith in him that he could protect her. It was a blind and naïve faith, but faith all the same, and he couldn't get that notion out of his head.

But, even so, he was still somehow reluctant to admit that he actually _liked _holding her in his arms or that he liked being with her. Even in his own mind, he couldn't admit that to himself. The thought made him feel normal, made him feel weak. Admitting that he enjoyed something so mundane and yet so intimate would be admitting weakness. And he wasn't going to do that—not even in his mind. He wouldn't.

Reminding himself that he had a job to complete, the Joker tore his eyes away from her face and gently laid her on the bed atop the heavy, quilted covers. She yawned and stretched out fully, laying flat on her back as one of her arms came up to rest near the side of her head.

She looked completely knocked out, and the Joker hoped she would stay that way. He wasn't going to be hiring a babysitter while he was gone, that was for sure. If she woke up and found that he wasn't there and started to have a panic attack . . . well, so be it. At least he wouldn't be there to witness it.

Turning away from her, he quickly redressed himself, putting back on his purple coat, (and adding a few extra knives to his pockets,) and slipping on his leather gloves. His greasepaint was already applied, his pockets were loaded with weapons, and he had the keys to Durante's house. Lastly, he grabbed the paper from the manila folder that contained the needed address.

98427 Woodland Drive.

_Perfect. _

Throwing one last glance at Taylor over his shoulder, he strode out of the room and shut the door.

Once in the lobby, the Joker impatiently rang the annoying little bell on the desk until the manager appeared from the back room. He obviously had been sleeping, judging from his appearance.

"Did you get the stuff?" the man asked quietly, unable to hide his roaming eyes from staring at the Joker's blood red scars.

"Yeah," he emphasized, pulling Durante's keys out of his pocket and jingling them. "Listen," he licked his lips and leaned both elbows on the counter, "If you hear any crying or screaming from my room, just ignore it. The girl will be fine," he said carefully. "Understand?"

"Um," the manager looked puzzled but agreed to the Joker's request anyways, knowing that if he asked any unnecessary questions, like _who the hell is that little girl anyways?_, that his life would hang in the balance. "Sure thing, Boss."

"Grea_t_." The Joker smiled sarcastically and slapped him lightly on the cheek before straightening his posture and making his way towards the door. "Oh and uh . . . don't waitup." He smiled and threw the door open, freezing air blasting over him as he stepped out into the night.

The drive to Durante's house was a bit longer than he had anticipated, especially with the weather. While the snow had ceased to fall for the time being, the asphalt was still slick with ice, and the winding road that weaved in and out from between the forest of pine trees was dark and unfamiliar. No streetlamps like he had grown so accustomed to in the city would be found here.

A little while later, when the glowing green clock on the dashboard read 12:04 A.M., the Joker finally turned onto Woodland Drive. The long, practically empty street had only three other houses on it, and appeared to be a relatively quiet neighborhood. Checking the numbers on the side of the mailboxes as he drove past them, he concluded that Durante's place should be at the very end of the street.

As he crested slowly over the top of a hill, he spotted Durante's home. _Not much of a decorator,_ the Joker mused. The house itself was modestly sized. It was a semi-large, two story affair with faded green shutters and tall trees hiding most of the house from view. The bushes that lined the small porch desperately needed to be trimmed and were sagging dejectedly under all the heavy snow. The place looked fairly neglected, and the only thing that added a touch of color to the otherwise dull-looking house was a bright red bow hanging on the door.

_Oh, how festive._

He turned the car off and let it let silently roll the rest of the way down the hill so the headlights wouldn't be shining in the house windows and the sound of his car wouldn't alert Durante of his presence. Once at the bottom of the hill, he turned the wheel towards the curb and let the car slowly roll to a stop there. The Joker checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and slicked back his hair, letting his tongue dart out across his lips and tasting the dried paint there as he made sure everything was in place. Pleased with his appearance, he smiled darkly into the mirror before exiting the car.

_Lots to do lots to do . . . . _

He lightly skipped up the brick walkway towards the front door, leaving footprints in the snow while he hummed a quick-paced and nameless tune. "_Da da da, da da da, da da daaaaa_ . . . ." He could see his breath in the midnight winter air as the tall trees branches that overshadowed the house rustled in the wind, dropping little white flecks of snow.

Now standing in front of the door, he rolled his shoulders forward and then back, stretching his muscles and hearing a satisfying 'pop' exude from his shoulder blades. He slicked back his hair once more and adjusted his green tie, not bothering to hide the delicious shudder that ran through his lean frame. He always got excited when he knew he was going to murder somebody. He could just _feel_ it. Whether it be Durante or their unfortunate next door neighbor, _somebody_ was going to die tonight.

Finally ready, he pulled Durante's house key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock, hearing the click resound into the air.

This would be such a _lovely_ Christmas surprise_. _He grinned to himself as the door slowly creaked open.

Inside, the house was completely dark, save for the brightly-colored Christmas tree in the corner that illuminated a small patch of hardwood floor and a few pictures on the surrounding walls. The Joker suddenly wished he had gotten a map of the interior of the house. At least then he could actually know where he was going.

No matter,there was no point in trying to plan out everything now, was there? Seriously, where was the fun in that? No, the Joker would much rather wander around anyway; check the place out first for anything of interest before beginning his search for Durante.

And that is exactly what he did.

He silently examined the whole downstairs, even going as far as to open the fridge and drink opening some sparkling cider, drinking it straight from the bottle. When he finished, he smacked his lips and sighed contently, finally deciding that playtime was over and it was now time to get down to business.

That's why he had saved the upstairs for last. As he silently climbed up the stairwell, he pulled his switchblade from his pocket and deftly flicked it open, holding it ready at his side.

There were four rooms upstairs, all of which had the door closed but one. Now that just made it almost _too_easy.

Noiselessly, he crept towards the door in the dark, and as he gently rested his hand on the knob, testing it, his heartbeat increased and his adrenaline kicked up a notch.

"_Ready or not_," he whispered into the dark, opening the door slowly.

The hinges on the door creaked loudly, and the Joker almost winced at the horrible screeching sound. _Well, damn._

He immediately stilled his movements and let the darkness consume his figure, holding his breath as he heard sounds of bed sheets rustling.

"Durante, is that you?"

The voice that called out was distinctly a feminine one, and because she was calling for Durante, it obviously meant that the man in question wasn't home at the moment. The Joker felt his scars tightening as the ends of his mouth curved upwards. This might be more fun that he had originally anticipated.

His smile stretched further at the thought.

_Well then . . . this is gonna be _good_._

Without another moment's hesitation, the Joker suddenly flipped on the light switch. The woman slowly sat up in Durante's bed, bringing an arm to her eyes and squinting from the bright light.

It took only a split second for both the girl's _and_ the Joker's countenance to change completely. The girl looked on in absolute horror and clutched the white bed sheets tighter around her middle. The Joker, on the other hand, only smiled broadly, very pleased by this unexpected and fortuitous turn of events. "Well well _well_," he said excitedly, his nasally voice crystal clear and as sharp as knives, causing shivers to run down the girl's spine. His smile widened as he took a step towards the bed. "And just who might _you_ be, beautiful?"

But of course he already knew who she was. He recognized her from the picture.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It was Taylor's _mother_.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Notes: **__If you've been following this story for this long and haven't reviewed yet, I'd love to hear from you. It's never too late to leave a review. Even if all you want to say is "it's good" or "it's bad," I like to hear it all. With that being said, __I would like to give a special shout out to the author __**heyepic**__, who helped provide the name for Taylor's mother, since I couldn't think of one myself. Thank you, epic._

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

She was staring at him now, completely wide-eyed and her mouth agape in terror. Her hands were grasping onto the blanket that shielded her lower half from his view as if her life depended on it.

Ah, so she _did_ recognize who he was.

_Perfect._

The Joker smiled widely at her, _very_ pleased by this sudden turn of events. He moved closer. "_So _. . . you gonna answer me . . . or just si_t _there? I asked you a question, doll. What's your _name_?" He let his eyes roam over the expanse of the room as he nonchalantly sauntered towards her with a lazy, careless gait, as if it were perfectly normal for a man like himself to break into random homes at one o'clock in the morning and interrogate its owner. When Taylor's mother made no move to answer, the Joker rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "What, you don't spea_k_?" He furrowed his brows and leisurely made his way over to the vanity that was pushed up against the same wall that the bed was against. He studied himself carefully in the mirror before slowly pulling off his jacket, clearly making it known to her that he planned on staying for a while. "Well, that's okay," he assured her with a quick, false smile, still scrutinizing himself in the mirror, finally settling with pushing his hair out of his face. Dropping his eyes downwards, he stared at the polished wood of the dresser, noticing several stacks of green bills. "I uh," he swallowed and licked his lips, "know who you are . . . anyway," he said slowly, letting his dark, gleaming eyes gradually drift sideways over to hers.

Her breath was coming out in short, shallow pants and her forehead was creased in panic. She still had yet to speak, but that was fine, he decided, she could take her time. The Joker knew people almost always became a little . . . _star struck_ when in his presence. But what could he say? His _ravishing_ good looks were enough to drive anyone _ca-raaazy_.

She was the first to break eye contact, his sharp, penetrating gaze making her feel extremely uncomfortable. She considering crawling back under the covers, and she would have, too, had she not been so paralyzed with fear.

The Joker smiled to himself, sensing her uneasiness. He turned away from the mirror and glanced around the room. "_Well_," he began with a flourish, attempting to break the silence as he mockingly dusted off the lapels of his coat, as if he were too filthy to even _deserve _to be in a room so grand. "_What_a place you got here. I mean, this is really ah, really ni_ce_." The last word slipped off his tongue effortlessly and resembled the noise of a hissing snake. His blackened eyes quickly scanned the room, drinking in every little detail.

The walls were a dark shade of pine green and were lined with a glossy, dark mahogany trim. The furniture was bulky and was also mahogany colored, the polished wood gleaming in the harsh overhead light. The massive four-poster sat in the middle of the room, while two bedside tables occupied either side of it. On the same wall as the bed, a long, waist-high dresser sat, accompanied with a huge oval mirror that rested on top of it. On the other side of the room, a fake plant and a grandfather clock were situated in the corner next to a long, black leather settee. As his eyes rolled to the ten-foot high ceilings and then back down again, he grinned at the woman on the bed. He meandered back over to her, casually leaning his tall frame against the post at the end of the bed, crossing his legs at the ankle and letting his eyes fall over her.

She looked nothing and everything like the picture Taylor had shown him only yesterday. Her hair was no longer the short, curly chocolate brown it had appeared to be in the picture, but was now pin-straight and colored a sultry shade of black, her long hair falling down below her breasts. Her facial features were almost exactly the same, only more defined. Her eyes were rimmed thickly in eyeliner, and her face was caked heavily in a powdery makeup, making her visage look extremely tan while the rest of her that he could see—chest and arms—were pale. For the most part, she looked deceptively beautiful—just like most prostitutes generally were. But underneath all that makeup, the Joker knew she must have been hiding some _serious_ scars.

While the Joker's makeup _defined_ his scars, made his flaws more noticeable to the general public, _her _makeup was designed to _hide _the flaws, to make her appear more perfect and more wonderful when she really just . . . _wasn't_. Nobody had the flawless complexions and lifestyles they all sought after. Sure, she could pretend she was happy and fine and okay, but at the end of the day, when the makeup came off and you're left with your naked reflection staring back at you in the mirror, you're suddenly reminded of all those other flaws and imperfections and scars—the scars that went beyond being just skin deep. Because at the end of the day, the emotional scars . . . well, those were the ones that never seemed to go away. You could shove the memories down, pretend that what had happened really didn't, but in the end, they'd all just come crawling back up your throat to choke you. Strangle you until you couldn't breathe and then drown you in a psychological pain that was worse than any physical pain you could ever acquire.

That's why the Joker _embraced _his flaws, rather than try to hide them. He already knew he was bad and "morally unstable" (at least that's what the shrinks at Arkham told him,) but he _reveled_ in those facts. He knew what he was, he knew he had imperfections—he had accepted all that long ago. Now his only aim was to make people realize that they couldn't hide _their_ scars, either.

After all, why be something you're just . . . _not_?

Looking her over once more, the Joker shook his head in disbelief. How could _this_ be the woman that gave birth to Taylor? They looked absolutely nothing alike. While her mother had a rounder visage, Taylor's face was more gaunt looking, her cheekbones more defined and he features more pronounced—though that was probably due more to her lack of food and nutrition. It disgusted the Joker to see Taylor, so delicate and fragile looking and thin—and then compare her to her mother who was curvy and voluptuous and who was clearly accustomed to eating on a daily basis. He didn't really know why he cared so much in the first place, why he found the whole situation so absolutely revolting, but he guessed it was partly due to the fact that he had grown to really almost . . . _like_ Taylor. Or maybe it was that he just hated her a little bit less than he hated everyone else.

"How—how do you know me?" Her voice was surprisingly firm at first, but then it gradually wavered off the end, her voice shaking despite her attempt to remain calm.

"Now now," the Joker frowned, discreetly pocketing his knife within his pants and folding his arms across his chest, "we'll get to that in a minute. _Tell me your name_," he said again with a calm tone of voice, looking at her expectantly and cocking his head to the side.

"It's . . . Anna," she said slowly, albeit somewhat breathlessly, her chest already heaving in panic.

"Ah, so she _does_ have a name." He grinned sardonically, pushing himself off the bed post and straightening himself. "Look," he began as he slowly inched his way towards her, pulling off his leather gloves at a leisurely pace, "I'm just gonna cut to the chase here so we can get to the _good_ part; that alright with you . . . _Anna_?"

The woman's only response was to swallow thickly again, still staring up at him with wide eyes. When she still didn't answer, the Joker narrowed his eyes at her. "Maybe you didn't _hear _me. I _said_. Is that. Al-righ_t_?" he growled, his voice dangerously low.

Anna nodded her head vigorously, parting her lips in silent terror as she watched the Joker's movements like a hawk, just waiting for the moment when he would pull out a knife or some other lethal weapon and rip her face open. Everything about this man put her on edge. She was already terrified and he hadn't even touched her yet.

"_Wonderful_," he purred sarcastically as he pocketed his gloves and suddenly turned his heel on her. He wandered over to the window on the other side of the room. "I just need you to ah . . . answer some _questions _is all." The Joker lowered his head as he stood by the window and looked back at her, staring at her from underneath his brows. "You think you can do that for me, sweet cheeks?" His tone was pleasant enough, but his sunken in and narrowed black eyes seemed to tell a whole different story.

Still staring at him fearfully, she tried to swallow down the ever-increasing panic that was steadily crawling up her throat, all the while trying to appear unafraid of him.

When she still didn't make a move and continued to remain silent yet again, the Joker tried to reaffirm his earlier statement. "All I wanna do is ask you a question," he said seriously, running his tongue along the inside of his cheeks.

Fearful of the supposed 'question' he wanted to ask her but even more fearful of the consequences of what might happen to her if she _didn't_ answer, she decided that playing along would be her best option—for now, at least. "What do you want to know?" she whispered pathetically, her arms pulling the covers higher over her chest. All she was wearing was a red spaghetti strap tank top and some skimpy underwear. She already felt vulnerable as it was; her clothing was practically the icing on the cake.

He raised his eyes at her in amusement and stood rigid by the window, still looking at her. "I just wanna know where your little lover boy Durante is, and then we just can _allll _go home and pretend this never happened, that sound alright with you, pumpkin?"

"Wh—why?" she stuttered, confusion crossing over her face as her brows knitted together.

He ran his tongue over his lips and smiled faintly for a brief moment. "Well, y'see," he began lightly, "I don't particularly uh, apprecia_te_ . . . being _stalked_ and then almost _murdered_ by some," the Joker lifted a hand and fluttered it in the air, searching for the right words as his voice began to take on a darker tone, "some incompetent wanna-be _thug _who doesn't even know how to hold a gun properly. . . you get me?"

Anna nodded her head yes and swallowed to catch a shaky breath. "So . . . so Durante is the one—one who sent him to ki—kill you?"

The Joker cocked his head to the side. "See, now that's the funny thing. Durante _didn'_t send him. He's just the cover-up, the fall guy, if you will. What _I_ want to know is who _really _wanted to kill me, and why," the Joker's voice hit a high note momentarily at the last part and then he continued on. "And your man Durante here, well . . . " he turned his head to look out the window again, narrowing his eyes as he glared out at the darkness, "he _knows_."

Anna considered his words carefully. She was so frightened—more so than she had ever been in her life—that she wasn't even able to process half of the things that the Joker had just said. All she knew was that somebody had put a price on the Joker's head, and that Durante must've had something to do with it.

All she knew was that the Joker was _here_, in Durante's house, and she wanted him _out_. She didn't want to die. Not now. And especially not by the hands of the Joker. She had heard about the horrible things he would do to his victims before he killed them; she had seen the pictures, watched the videos on GCN, and secretly listened to the phone conversations Durante would have with other members of the mob. Even though she had only been with him for a week, (longer than she had ever stayed with a client before,) she had been subjected to an ample amount of information concerning the Joker. He was all anyone ever seemed to talk about these days.

Seeing that he was getting impatient waiting for her response, she finally answered. "If I tell you where he is . . . will you promise to leave?" She knit her brows together and gave him a firm look, trying to appear unafraid while her voice remained shaky and unsteady.

_That was too easy. _The Joker smirked at her willingness to rat out the man who was most likely paying her _good_ money to occupy his bed.

Much, _much_ too easy, he mused. No, he wouldn't let her off that _painlessly_.

Hiding his smirk, he frowned sadly at her and lowered his head. "You want me to leave so _soon_? I'm hurt, really, I am. I thought we were getting along just _swimmingly." _Raising his brows, a thoughtful expression suddenly crossed his face, and his eyes gleamed deceptively in the harsh overhead light that lit the room.

_Swimmingly . . . what a great idea. _He'd have to remember that.

Turning his attention back to her, he suddenly remembered her question. "I suppose I . . . I could leave if you _really_ wanted me to," he said with an expression of mock hurt.

Relief seemed to wash over Anna's face like water, and she visibly relaxed, closing her eyes momentarily and taking in a gulp of much needed air. "He's staying at a hotel tonight near—near the power plant across from Maverick Tunnel, on the west side."

The Joker startled her when he suddenly let out a loud, short laugh. "He left you all _alone_, on _Christmas day?_Tsk tsk, what a terrible shame." He frowned sadly as if he were really put off by such news, slowly making his way back over to her to stand by the end of the bedpost once again. He leaned against it once more and looked down at her, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling as a thought suddenly entered his mind. "Well, not that he really _cares_, of course, you're here just to keep the sheets warm." He grinned impishly at her.

Anna looked surprisingly more hurt than he thought she would have been by such a comment. "He was supposed to be back by now," she said, her eyes brimming with anger.

Oh, so she had a little defiantness in her, did she? Well, he could take care of _that _little misfortune.

Staring at her thoughtfully, he suddenly cocked his head to the side. "You know," he began, steadily creeping closer to her, "you look _nothing _like your daughter. Nothing at all—not even a _little_ bit!" He pinched his fingers together to show her just how small he meant. "You sure you're Taylor's mother?"

A look of utter disbelief passed over Anna's face and she stared up at him in complete confusion. "How do you?—" she breathed in shock, but was unable to continue when the Joker interrupted her.

"How do I know Taylor? Oh, well, I adopted her of course."

Anna's jaw dropped.

The Joker suddenly laughed hysterically then, bending over and slapping his knee. "_Ha ha!_ I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" His laughed resounded loudly in her ears as he smiled broadly. "You should have seen the look on your face, it was _priceless_."

Anna was not amused. "She—she's supposed to be . . . _dead_."

The Joker's mood instantly shifted upon hearing that, and he frowned grimly. "Tell me something, _Anna_," he began in a light tone, "do you ever feel guilty for abandoning your daughter in some condemned building why you—" he shook his head and laughed cruelly, "while _you_ sleep around with the underbelly of Gotham's _finest_?" He quickly licked his lips. "How does that make you _feel_? Does it make you feel guilty that you have a warm bed to sleep in every night, while your daughter tries to keep warm in the freezing cold? Or how does it make you feel to know that your little _baby _is patiently _waiting_ for you?" The Joker paused to gauge her reaction. Still shocked—good. "You know what really _sickens_ me though?" The Joker shook his head and glanced briefly at the ceiling, smacking his lips together before dropping his gaze back to her. "The fact that she still _loves _you, even though you beat her and _abused _her and _hated_her. She loves you—and you abandoned her. How do you feel now? Do you feel like dir_t, Anna_? Do you feel . . . _unworthy _to even be alive?

"Stop," she suddenly whispered, not wanting to hear anymore. "Please, please just leave," she begged, on the verge of sobbing. "I told you what you wanted to know!"

Staring at her blankly, the Joker tongued at his bottom lip, now standing right next to her as she sat on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her back rigid as she stared up at him. "As much as I ah, appreciated your very generous cooperation, it unfortunately . . . didn't quite help your _situation_."

As the Joker raised his painted black brows at her, his words suddenly dawned on Anna, and her eyes went wide with fear. "No," she whispered, slowly beginning to peel the covers back from her legs, completely terrified. "You said if I told you where he was then you wouldn't hurt me!"

"I never said that," the Joker replied defensively, giggling to himself while trying to hide his grin.

"You—you implied it!" she replied desperately, her chest heaving heavily. "Just _please_ go, I told you what you wanted to know!" She had the covers off of her and was now beginning to crawl backwards towards the opposite end of the bed.

"But where is the fun in that? Don't you want to have_ fun_, Ann-_ah_?"

"Not the hell with you," she spat fiercely, glaring at him.

The Joker could see that her confidence was growing because she was getting closer to the phone that lay on the nightstand.

_Time to knock you down a notch. _

He looked at her with a hurt expression in regard to her insult. "Oh, now, that wasn't a very nice thing to say."

After a second or two of breathless anticipation for what they both knew was going to transpire next, Anna, without warning, completely threw off the sheets that covered her and, untangling her legs, quickly scrambled towards the other end of the bed, her hand reaching out to grab the phone.

The Joker only frowned after her and suddenly lunged forward with so much power that he ended up tackling her to the floor, the phone coming crashing down next to them with. Anna was on her back and the Joker quickly dug one of his knees into her stomach, pinning her down while the other one rested on the floor next to her waist.

Anna instantly began to struggle and attempted to flail her legs, but the Joker dodged her kicks and responded by curling his free hand into a fist and punching her square in the jaw, knocking her head to the side and sending her skull crashing back to the hardwood with a sickening crack.

Desperately gasping for breath and reeling with shock from the unexpected blow, Anna lay numb and dizzy on the floor as his knee continued to dig into her ribs as he towered above her, constricting her breathing. "Where do you think _you're_ going, hm?" He swiped his tongue quickly over his lips and continued. "We haven't even started yet_._"

She weakly began to push on his chest, trying to lessen the weight his knee was applying to her ribcage; she could hardly breathe.

Annoyed with her feeble attempts, he quickly captured both her wrists in one rapid movement and pinned them above her head, holding them there with his hand.

"I—I have money," she gasped desperately. "You can have it all. Just take it. I'll—I'll give you everything. Just . . . please,_ please_ don't hurt me." Tears were streaming down her face now, her eyeliner rushing down her cheeks in sticky, black rivulets.

The Joker shook his head at her in disgust. "Listen to you," he scoffed, "do you hear yourself?" His eyes were narrowed into slits as he looked at her in repulsion. "You're absolutely pathe_tic_," he growled fiercely, leaning down to suddenly spit in her face.

His words stung her like acid, and she flinched as his saliva hit her face and then weakly squirmed underneath the weight of his knee. "Let me go!" she screamed fiercely, bucking against him and attempting to throw him off.

He didn't even budge an inch.

Lowering his tone so that it was nearly a whisper, he leaned his face down over hers. "What's the matter, doll face? Is it the scars? Do they . . . _frighten_ you?" He pointed to the lacerations with his free hand. "Would you like to know how I got 'em?"

Anna shook her head no while the Joker nodded his head yes. He licked his lips and swallowed, clearing his throat so that he could properly tell his story. "When I was in high school, I had this . . . girlfriend, and she was beautiful, looked a lot like you, Anna. So one day we're at her house, just messin' around on the couch and having a good time and all that. You know what I'm talking about." He winked obscenely at her and she blanched. "Well, it turns out . . . I got her pregnant." The Joker raised his brows for dramatic effect and nodded his head. "But see, when her daddy found out, well _boy_, he sure didn't like that. Not. One. Bi_t_." The Joker paused and let his voice creep to a higher octave. "_So_, he forces her to tell him who did it. She doesn't want to, see, but daddy's got a knife and she doesn't, doesn't want to die. It's too soon for her to go, ya know? I mean, she's only in _high school_." The Joker paused yet again. His mind already concocting a brilliant story he knew he'd like to tell again. "Reluctantly," he began again, "she tells him who did it. She says, _'it's the boy next door, daddy. He did it to me.' _So the next day, I come home from school, and guess who's waiting for me in the kitchen? Well it's her old man, of course! He forces me to the ground, digs his knee into my stomach _just._ _Like. This_," he pressed his knee painfully into her ribcage and she gasped loudly in response, "and then he says to me," the Joker lowered his voice until he was speaking in a low, raspy growl, '_why so serious_?'" He swallowed and blinked slowly, lowering his head. "I, of course, am _terrified_. I tell him it won't happen again, I tell him I'm sorry. I tell him . . . I didn't _mean_ to fuck her like I did. He doesn't like that either. He grabs a knife from the counter," the Joker paused to pull a switchblade from within the pocket of his pants, "and he's laughing while he does it. He tells me that he'll make _sure _it doesn't happen again, because after he's done with my face, _nobody_ will want to sleep with me. So he splits my cheeks open. And then there's blood. And its . . . _everywhere_." The Joker whispered the last word, shivering as he closed his eyes and pictured the scene in his head, and Anna soon realized to her discomfort that he wasn't shivering in horror, but in _pleasure_.

She shook her head back and forth, trying to block out the horrible mental images that were swirling through her brain. She suddenly felt dizzy, like she was going to pass out. "Please stop," she panted, choking on her words through her tears.

"I think what you mean to say is please _go_," he whispered in her ear, and before she could reply further, the cool, silver metal of a blade was pushed up under her jaw, the tip of it slowly dragging upwards until it reached the corner of her mouth, beginning to stretch the skin there. "_No_!" she screamed with every breath she had left. The Joker was suddenly thrown off balance by her sudden thrashing movements, and he landed on his hands and knees next to her.

She quickly tried to push herself up from the carpet, but suddenly the Joker's bare hands were painfully grasping onto the skin of her upper calf, his sharp fingernails digging into the backside of her knees and pulling her to him. Anna cried out and tried to twist away, but all too soon she became aware of the fact that he was now straddling her hips and had her wrists once again captured in one of his hands, pinning them above her head.

He looked pointedly into her makeup-smudged eyes and lowered his head, glaring at her from underneath his brows. Anna shifted uncomfortably beneath his heavy weight and tried to slow her breathing. Adrenaline pumping through him, he swiped his tongue along his lips, holding the blade near the side of her jaw, stroking it roughly against her cheek but not drawing any blood. "We're no_t_ done yet, doll face."

Anna looked crestfallen. "Please don't hurt me, oh God, please, _please_ don't hurt me."

The Joker laughed. "Oh sweetheart, I'm gonna do a whole lot more than just _hurt_ you." He closed his thighs tighter around her hips, and pressed the knife into the underside of her jaw, hard. "I'm going to _kill_ you."

He was about to insert the blade in between her lips when suddenly, Anna did something that surprised even _him_.

She lifted her head from the floor and kissed him.

Hard and full on the mouth, she kept her eyes open in anxious anticipation as she tried to gauge his reaction, desperately and eagerly moving her lips against his, tasting his greasepaint and unwashed mouth.

_Well, two could play at that game._

Releasing her wrists, the Joker slid his hands into her hair and cupped the back of her skull, forcing her lips closer to his as he vigorously kissed her back, closing his eyes and opening his mouth fully, groaning loudly as he plundered her mouth.

He was drooling. His kiss was sloppy and wet but his mouth was forceful and persistent, not once letting her up to catch her breath. His tongue easily slid into her mouth and he pushed it down her throat as he kept his hands tangled in her hair while his elbows dropped to the floor, pushing her head down and pressing his chest firmly against hers.

He could feel her chest constricting beneath his weight as she tried to inhale some air, but the Joker only dug his nails into her skull and pressed his face more firmly into hers, not letting up on the kiss. Anna opened her mouth wider to try to take in a gulp of air, but the Joker only opened his wider as well, his tongue still inside her mouth and sweeping along the inside of her cheeks and teeth and tangling with her tongue.

Without warning, he suddenly groaned deeply and grinded his hips painfully against hers—not because he was sexually excited, but because he knew the action would serve to frighten her.

And it did. Anna whimpered into his mouth as she experienced what felt like his hipbones crushing hers as he continued to deny her oxygen, his mouth hot and unrelenting. He thrust his hips hard against hers and rubbed against her obscenely, searching for friction that he didn't really want as he continue to kiss her.

Right when she thought her head was going to explode from lack of oxygen, he finally let up as he broke the kiss, both of them gasping for breath. Anna's chest heaved heavily with the Joker's full weight on top of her, making it difficult for her to breathe properly.

"Mm, not ba_d_," he said contemplatively, chuckling as he ran his hands up her bare thighs, only now just becoming aware of the fact that she was clad only in her underwear and a thin tank top. "But uh, that was the just the _warm-up_."

Still trying to catch her breath, which was difficult to do because her heart was beating so fast, Anna began to panic again. "Warm—warm-up . . . for what?"

"You'll see," he answered ominously, and, without warning, suddenly took his knife and rapidly swiped it across her skin. The blade followed the curve of the underside of her jaw and dipped over her collarbone, finally cutting off near her shoulder. Anna let out a horrible, high pitched scream, squeezing her eyes shut as blood immediately poured from her wound. The cut was deep, deeper than he had actually intended. He had meant to nick her actual _bone_.

Hot tears welled in Anna's eyes and she groaned loudly as rivers of tears streamed down her face. Never had something so painful ever happened to her before. She writhed and cried on the floor beneath him as she tried to dull the pain, shaking and twisting her body back and forth uncontrollably.

But before she could even process anything else, the Joker unexpectedly and roughly pulled up her tank top, exposing her pale stomach, swiftly making three, deep long slashes across her belly with his already- bloody switchblade.

Anna arched off the floor and she screamed again, her mouth open in agony and her fingers digging into the Joker's, who now had her hands pinned above her head again. "Stop!" she cried, her breathing ragged and her voice hysterical. "I'll do anything, please stop! I'm begging you!" she screamed through her tears.

Ignoring her pleas, the Joker enjoyed her screams as he continued to make deep slashes all along her body. He marked her arms, her neck, her stomach, and her legs. He cut her knees too. Sliding his knife roughly over her kneecaps and then digging the blade into the backs of her knees and sliding it further down, slicing the back of her calves. It was hard to keep her still during his ministrations, so he would continuously whisper threats into the shell of ear to keep her from moving.

They worked.

After a moment, he raised himself up from her slightly so he could flip her around and straddle her lower back. He lifted up her shirt so he could deeply skate the edge of his blade into the soft skin of her back. She already had several marks there, most likely from other men digging their nails into her back while in a moment passion—but this moment was anything but, and the Joker was going to prove that.

He dragged the knife all across her back, cruelly slashing out a checkerboard pattern of crisscrossed lines and unsymmetrical cuts and lacerations while she sobbed and screamed and begged pathetically.

Music to his ears.

What made the moment all the more satisfying for him was knowing that she wholeheartedly deserved every little cut he was giving her.

Every. Single. One.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Anna but had actually only been two or three minutes, the Joker was suddenly on his feet and had grasped hold of Anna's forearm, hauling her up with him while she cried out hoarsely, gasping in pain.

She could barely stand. Everything hurt. There wasn't anything more he could possibly do to her that would be worse than this.

"Where—where are we going?" she blubbered, her eyes were so blurry from tears she could hardly see. She lamely tried to get to her feet as he roughly tugged her towards the French doors on the other side of the room, her blood leaking all over the floor as she continued to sob.

"Oh God, please stop!" Her lacerations were rubbing against the hardwood as the Joker dragged her across it.

"Tell me doll face, is there a _Jacuzzi_ in here?" the Joker pressed his lips together as he pulled open both doors and shoved her inside the bathroom where she fell to the ground, blood staining the immaculately white-tiled floor. Flicking on a light switch, he smiled. "Ah, _thereeee_ it is." He hurriedly walked over to it, making sure the stopper was in before turning the hot water. The roar of the rushing water resounded loudly in her ears and Anna sobbed. She dizzily laid her head back against the floor, blurs and colors all swimming in front of her eyes. She watched through haze as the Joker stood tall above her, examining himself in the mirror once more, rolling his purple sleeves up to his elbows to reveal his forearms.

As Anna sobbed brokenly on the floor, she watched through blurry eyes as he began to rifle through all the bathroom drawers, roughly tearing the drawers from their confinements and dumping all the contents from them into the bathroom sink. He sifted through all the items with interest, once or twice pocketing an object he liked or thought would be useful for later.

Wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to sit up onto her elbows, she suddenly noticed the Joker twirling a small black object in his hands.

To her horror, she realized it was an electrical razor. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to herself while he was currently occupied, she tried to hold back her whimper of protest.

She hurt worse than she had ever hurt in her whole life. He had cut up, marked, scarred, and physically ruined nearly every visible portion of her body—everything but her face. He couldn't possibly do anything more to her.

As blood dripped from her open cuts and she couldn't help but begin to cry even harder, the Joker turned on his heel when he heard water splashing over the side of the tub. Laying the razor on the marble counter, he stepped over her to turn it off. Cocking his head at her, he frowned. "You . . . you look so . . . so uptigh_t_, Anna. Why don't you unwind a little, you know, relax a bit. Take a _deeeep_breath and all that ja_zz_." Suddenly lunging at her, he gripped the hair on top of her head painfully, practically pulling it up from her scalp, and roughly yanked her to her knees in front of the tub as she let out a sharp cry.

Unfortunately for her, her mouth was open as he plunged her whole head into the scalding hot water, submersing it completely . . . and holding it there.

_Damn,_ the water was a lot hotter than he thought it would be.

_Oh well. _

Smiling, he pressed himself closer against her, gripping the hair on her scalp more forcefully. "Now, let's see just how long you can hold your breath . . . underwater."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Anna let out a muffled, blood-curdling scream as she was held beneath the water, thrashing and kicking as hard as she possibly could. The Joker would admit it: he was having trouble keeping her down. She sure was putting up one_ hell_ of fight, but unfortunately for her, this did nothing but propel his perverted excitement. His hands tightened around her head and he smiled as he dug his fingernails into her scalp. He licked his lips and quickly straddled her back, his feet planted firmly on either side of her as he forced her head deeper underwater. Anna's hands were scraping desperately against the outside tiles of the tub, her nails clawing against the tiles, trying frantically to give herself some leverage so she could push herself away from it. The task however, proved impossible with the Joker's strong, lean legs on either side of her, leaving her lower half completely immobile.

It only took a few more seconds of her thrashing and screaming for him to be annoyed with her antics. Without even a word, he suddenly placed his free hand in the space between her legs. He could hear Anna's muffled gasp in the water as he roughly cupped her crotch. Then, without warning, he swiftly lifted her up and over the side of the tub, dumping her whole body into it. Her head came up out of the water momentarily and she let out the most horrible, ear-shattering scream he had _ever _heard. He fiercely struggled with her as she literally fought for her life. One hand in her hair and the other hand now on her chest, the Joker's muscles were suddenly surcharged with a fierce vitality, his muscles snapping into play roughly, like steel springs suddenly brought to life. He violently pushed Anna back down into the water, holding her there once again with renewed energy.

Rather than hold her breath like she should have done, she instead let out yet another blood-curdling scream, boiling hot water and a coppery, metal taste instantly flooding her mouth until it was all she could taste and smell. Her raw, opened and bleeding cuts submersed in the scalding hot water was nearly too much to bear. Her whole body stung like the nothing she had ever felt before, and it felt like she was drowning in hot lava rather than just bath water. Her skin was on fire, and Anna would have sworn that it was slowly melting off her body, the water so hot it was literally peeling away her flesh.

"_Stop_!" she screamed, though her cries were muffled, as if she had just yelled into a pillow. Her eyes, completely bloodshot, were wide open beneath the water as she continued to twist and thrash her body, splashing water everywhere.

The Joker fought her with every ounce of strength he had. He smiled horribly at her when her pleading eyes would meet his from beneath the water. Above her screams of anguish, he spoke, his voice sardonic and nasally. "Oh, I'm sorry, what's that you're saying? The water's too _cold_, is it? Well then, in that case . . . let's ah, _turn it up a notch_."

And he did just that, kicking the nozzle all the way to the left to make the water even hotter. He didn't even care that it was spilling out of the sides anymore, he just wanted to see her suffer. His hands were burning, but he didn't care. It felt _good_.

It was only a few more torturous seconds later when Anna felt her lungs start to constrict. She desperately needed air. It wasn't helping matters that the Joker's hand on her chest was practically crushing her ribcage, nor did it help that she was already having trouble breathing as it was. Her throat was sore and practically bleeding from all the screaming she was doing.

As the seconds passed and lack of oxygen was starting to make her vision blurry, it was getting harder and harder to fight back. She couldn't even think straight anymore. Everything burned. Her scalp, her skin, her _eyeballs_. It all burned like fire, and she couldn't do anything to make it stop.

The world was blurry and distorted around her. As she was looked up through the bathwater from the bottom of the tub, all she could see were brilliant flashes of purple and white, and then red. Lots and lots of red.

In the back of her mind, she vaguely assumed that it was the Joker's red-painted mouth that she was seeing. But as her body lurched again and her eyes began to flutter closed, she realized in horror that the red she was seeing was actually the _water_.

The Joker was drowning her in her own _blood_.

He had literally created a _bloodbath _to _drown_ her in.

She couldn't possibly think of a more horrible way to die.

With her thoughts twisted and scattered, her body suddenly gave a strange lurch.

Her seconds were almost up, the Joker noted, and he dug fingers harder into her scalp as he held down her more forcefully. He had fully intended on drowning her, he really did, right then and there. He was so close, too. So, _so_ close. He knew that she had only a few more seconds of breath left . . . but for whatever reason, he didn't do it.

He let up on her without a word. Removing his hand from her chest (he had probably crushed a rib or two,) and untangling his hand from her hair, he watched Anna with black, narrowed eyes as she shot up out of the tub, gasping desperately for air and half unconscious from lack of oxygen. She looked like she was going to pass out.

The Joker hadn't realized how labored his own breathing had become until the room had silenced enough for him to hear it. He was panting raggedly, his breath mixing with Anna's own as she coughed and sputtered. Water trickled down the side of the tub silently, and the Joker tore his eyes away from Anna long enough to watch it for a moment.

He towered over the bathtub, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He didn't even understand why he was so angry. It his rage had been partly for Taylor at first—his anger directed towards Anna for the all things she had done to someone so unbelievably innocent disgusted even _him_—but after a while, the cause seemed lost and now it was just the adrenaline that was surging through his veins that had spurred him on.

And the adrenaline was still there, too.

Pushing his hair back from his face with one hand, the Joker suddenly bent over the side of the tub and slipped his hands underneath Anna, lifting her soaking wet body up and out of the water.

A weak, strangled moan of pain escaped from her lips, and the noise was reminiscent to something a dying animal would make in its final moments of despair.

The Joker's suit was already completely soaked as he held her dripping wet body in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Her skin was hot to the touch and flushed scarlet. Her cuts were still bleeding, though not as much as they had been before. He made sure that he gingerly laid her on the floor next to the bed—he didn't want her to pass out on him on _just _yet.

While Anna made pitiful, open-mouthed moans of agony and her body twisted weakly back and forth on the floor, the Joker merrily went about making the bed. He quickly tucked in the satin sheets and pulled the covers up to the headboard so everything looked nice and neat. As a finishing touch he even fluffed the pillows and placed them up against the headboard as well. When everything was to his liking, he turned back around and with a small grunt, lifted Anna up off the floor and propped her up into a sitting position against the headboard.

Her eyes were half-closed and her whole body was trembling as the Joker tried to adjust her so she would sit up straight. "Hel—help me, please . . . _please_," Anna wheezed, sounding out of breath as if she had just been running a marathon. "God, it hurts so much . . . please make—make it stop."

Everything was blurry to her as she was barely hung on to that last thread of consciousness. As her eyelids began to close, the Joker leisurely climbed up onto the bed and sat on his haunches in front of her. She let out a startled gasp and was pulled back to reality when she felt the Joker's hands on her shoulders, pushing down the straps of her spaghetti strap tank top. "No . . . no," she cried through shuddering tears.

The Joker only smirked, pushing her straps off her shoulders and then slowly pulling down her top, exposing everything. Her skin was still raw and burning hot to the touch as he pulled the top down past her stomach and over her legs until it was completely off. She wasn't wearing a bra.

Next, he quickly began work on her underwear. He didn't waste any time in putting on a theatrical show for her since she was half conscious anyway, and he quickly tore it down her legs instead.

Once she was fully unclothed, she was too weak to even attempt to cover herself. She sat slumped against the headboard, her eyes bloodshot with warm tears streaking down her face and blood oozing from her arms, legs, and stomach.

Removing himself from the bed, the Joker went over to small, black duffle bag he had noticed earlier in the corner and began to rifle through it.

Yup, this was definitely Anna's bag, he decided as he pulled out a black and very racy lingerie dress. The dress was short and there was barely enough material to cover the intimates, but that was probably the point, he assumed. The bust of the dress was trimmed in small black feathers and silk lace while the sides and stomach were made of a thin, gossamer material so that when it was on the skin underneath was visible. _This'll have to do_, the Joker giggled to himself.

Fully pulling it out of the bag, he gently fingered the material as he made his way back to the bed, crawling back on top of it as he crouched in front of Anna once again.

The dress was so tiny that the Joker doubted he'd be able to pull it up past her thighs, so he conceded with pulling it down over her head and slipping her arms through the sleeves. Once he had her fully dressed in her lingerie, he scooted back on the mattress to admire his work.

The dress fit her well, but something . . . something was missing.

Ohhhh, of_ course. _How could he have forgotten?

Smiling to himself, he made sure he had Anna's attention by roughly tapping her cheeks a few times, convincing her to open her eyes, before he slowly pulled out his favorite knife—his Paragon ATKO10—the one that resembled a potato peeler.

"You know something, sweetheart? I never ah, never got to finish my story," he said with a frown. "You wanna hear the rest of i_t_?" He leaned in closer to her as he spoke, his voice dropping to a low octave as he moved to straddle her thighs.

Anna weakly nodded her head back and forth, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks once more. "Please don't," she whispered, her voice painfully strained. She was obviously overcome with too much pain to even move let alone think straight.

Flipping his knife in his hands a couple of times, he regarded her silently before suddenly moving in closer to her, his face uncomfortably near to hers. He purposely pressed the side of his face against her cheek so she could feel the uneven flesh of his scars as he began to whisper into the hollow of her ear. "After her daddy splits my face open," he began, picking up right where he left off. He briefly closed his eyes as he leaned into her, licking his lips and relaxing his body into hers. "I sca_-ream_." The Joker pulled back to look into her eyes and nodded his head fervently, affirming his statement. "I scream so loud that her old man tells me to 'shut the hell up' because he doesn't want to 'wake up the neighbors.'" He laughed then, a short, breathy sound that made Anna cringe. "He's joking of course though, smiling at me and laughing like he's just told the funniest joke in the _world_. But you know what? . . . I didn't think it was funny _at all,_" the Joker growled, his knife already shaking in his hands, anticipation coursing through him. "You wanna know what I did next, Anna?"

Anna vigorously shook her head no, a choked sob escaping her as she tried to twist her head away from him, but he only responded by grabbing it with both of his hands, his knife now residing near her ear. "But all this anticipation is _killing_ me, isn't it for you too? Why don't I just _cut_ the suspense, hm? I know you're just _dying _to get to the end of the story, aren't ya? He grinned wickedly. "Why don't I just _show_ you the ending, yeah?" He shook his head eagerly up and down while Anna did the opposite.

"No, no!" she gasped, sobbing hard. "Stop, I'll do anything—anything!" She blindly moved her hands to his chest, grasping on the fabric . . . hoping to pull him into another distracting kiss.

The Joker was disgusted but didn't let it show. "It's too late to go back, sweetheart," he ground out fiercely, pushing her hands away. "You can't. Chan_ge_. The past," he growled, positively livid. "But you know what's so great about that?" He eagerly licked his lips, slowly inserting the sharp blade in-between her lips. He began to stretch her right cheek at the corner and whispered to her. "_You don't have to_."

With those final words, he roughly tugged the knife at the corner of her mouth and jerked it sideways, effortlessly slicing into the skin of her cheek while Anna's body suddenly arched upwards and she let out a gurgled scream. He quickly mimicked his actions on the other side of her mouth and then watched as Anna fell back against the headboard, intoxicated with pain.

"It's funny, isn't it? _Allll_this could've been avoided if you wouldn't have . . ." the Joker rolled his eyes to the ceiling and then back to her, speaking in a much darker tone once more, "gotten yourself all _fucked up_." He leaned in close to her and then spit in her face, watching as his saliva dribbled down her chin. She didn't even notice it.

With those last words, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He wondered how it would _feel _for her if he decided to cut out her . . . _lady parts_. _With those out of the way,_ the Joker mused, _she wouldn't have to worry about making a 'mistake' like Taylor again._ While he mulled over the prospect, Anna suddenly made a strangled noise of anguish, and he looked back at her, frowning.

She looked absolutely pathetic. Her long, soaking wet hair was now a disheveled mess because he had been pulling on it so much, and her once pale skin was marred with long, jagged, and bloody lacerations. She looked horrible, and the Joker couldn't wait to find out how Durante would react to the scene when he got home.

Speaking of that though, he really needed to get out of the house. Tonight wasn't the right night to deal with Durante—not after this, anyway. No, he'd lay low for a few days, let today's events play out on the news and in the papers. After this, _all_ of Gotham would know for _sure _that the Joker was back.

And that he was ready to come out and _play_.

Perhaps this was just the thing that would bring the Batman out of his strange 'disappearance'? After all, hide and seek was only so much fun for the first couple of minutes—several _months_, however, well, that was bordering on extreme.

As the Joker hopped off the bed, feeling much better about himself and his overall state of mind, he practically skipped over to the vanity to retrieve his heavy purple coat, putting it on over his soaking wet clothes and pocketing his knife. As an afterthought, he impulsively pocketed the green wad of cash on the dresser—it wasn't like it would be of any use to Anna _now_—not unless she miraculously survived and decided to use the money to fix her ruined face. Which would really be such a shame, the Joker thought, considering what a beautiful job he had done carving it up.

She looked positively _radiant_ now.

Turning around and taking one last look at Anna, he couldn't help but grimace slightly at his own handiwork. He could only imagine the look on Durante's face when he saw her, dressed in her skimpiest lingerie and all bloody and battered and facially deformed and . . . _dead_.

As his gaze swept almost wistfully one last time over the expanse of the room, he suddenly faked a look of shock. "Oh, and I almost forgot . . ." his voice was quiet and he doubted Anna even heard him. "Here's your tip." He dug around in his coat pocket until his found a one dollar bill, tossing it into her lap. "Don't ah, spend it all in one pla_ce_."

With that, he shut off the lights and slammed the bedroom door as he exited, laughing hysterically all the way down the hall, stopping in the middle of the stairwell at one point and leaning his forehead against the wall, his bloodied hands grasping onto the banister to support himself as he laughed.

Sometimes he just cracked himself up.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he was strictly business. Pulling out his non-traceable cell phone, he quickly dialed a number off the top of his head. It rang only once before the member on the other end picked. _Ah, that's a good boy._

"Hello?"

The Joker didn't bother with formalities and launched straight to the point. "Call Skids and get over to Durante's house—now."

There was shuffling on the other line before the voice replied. "What'd you need us to do, Boss?"

"Just lie low outside of the house, keep an eye on Durante for a few days—"

"You mean _stalk_ him?"

The Joker sighed irritably. "Do you . . . do you have a _problem_ with that?"

The male stuttered. "N—no, no boss, not at all. When do you need us there?"

The Joker worked his mouth and then smacked his lips. "Uh, _now_."

"Right. We'll be there."

The Joker snapped the cell phone shut and, taking one last look around the house, made his way to the front door and stepped outside. The cold air bit him like a snake, and it didn't help that his clothes were practically soaking wet, either. He glanced around to make sure no neighbors were watching him or had called the police—Anna _had_ been screaming pretty loud.

He made his way back to the car and after wiping some fresh remnants of snow from the windshield, quickly got inside and started it.

He decided that once he got back to the motel that his best option would be for him to lay low for a while. Once the news about Anna hit the news, all of Gotham would know of his return. However, he wasn't quite ready to make his grand entrance just yet. There was also still the matter of the 'black masked' figure that needed to be taken care of. Once the Joker got him out of the way, he could resume his normal chaotic ways again—that was, of course, assuming that Batman was ready to come out and play again. And if Batman wasn't, well then, that's where _Taylor _would come in.

It was almost two thirty in the morning when the Joker arrived back at the motel. The car door slammed behind him with a bang as he made his way towards the front entrance. The short, winter snow storm had seemingly passed over for now, and the sky was now a clear and dark navy blue color. White, crystal stars were scattered above him while the old, thick pine trees overhead swayed and creaked in the wind.

Once inside the warmth of the building, he sighed heavily and silently walked down the hallway, fully intent on taking a shower and ridding himself of the bloody copper sent that flooded his nostrils every time he caught a whiff of himself. He also really needed to try his clothes. His customized, selective-fire Glock 18 would have to be dissembled too, so it could dry properly.

As he noiselessly padded down the dimly lit, carpeted halls, he suddenly pictured Taylor still sleeping soundly on the bed, just as he had left her. She had been completely knocked out when he had left, so she was still probably sleeping deeply.

With her in mind, the Joker began to wonder what he would tell when she asked about her mother again. She may have been naive, but he couldn't keep lying to her about the situation like he'd been doing for the past couple of days. There was no way around it. Eventually, he'd have to tell her that her mother wasn't coming back.

Although, on the other hand, he didn't really _have_ to tell her. It wasn't like he was under some obligation to do so. Hell, he could let her think what she wanted. She'd only be a big bundle of tears if he told her, anyway. No, the topic of her mother returning would be better left unsaid. Who knew what kind of depression she would spiral into if she found out that he had very personally murdered her own mother?

The Joker pulled his key card out of his pocket and slipped it through the slot in the door and then slowly pulled it open.

The smell of bleach and stale cigarettes instantly invaded his nostrils once again, and he frowned in annoyance. The bright overhead light was still on, just as he had left it, and he vaguely wondered how Taylor could have slept through such an annoying, bright glare.

As he stepped farther into the room, his wet jacket hanging heavily on his shoulders, he began to walk over to the bed to check on Taylor. He stopped short, however, when he suddenly noticed that she was wide awake and seated on a man's lap who was currently sitting on the edge of the bed.

The Joker loosened his jaw and cocked his head to the side, looking utterly unhinged and completely startling. With his suit soaked, his makeup smeared, and his dark, glittering eyes glaring daggers at the man who was looking up at him in shock, the man on the bed thought he looked absolutely _crazy_.

"Wha_t_ do you think you're _doing_?" the Joker asked, his voice strangely low, quiet even.

The man shifted uncomfortably, and Taylor, sensing that something was very, _very_ wrong, began to slowly crawl out of his lap and towards the headboard.

The man slowly rose from the bed, standing tall to face the Joker.

The man was _Jacob_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_One hour prior..._

Jacob sighed restlessly, twisting around beneath the thick, heavy bedspread to adjust the pillow behind his head. It was almost one o'clock in the morning and he still couldn't catch any sleep. This whole coming back from Australia thing was not easy. Despite all his travels across the country, he had forgotten about jet lag, and how that always messed up his sleeping patterns for at least a week. Sighing heavily, he turned onto his back and reached across the bed to grab the remote off the nightstand. Perhaps the dull droning of the news would help lull him to sleep.

He fumbled with the buttons in the dark and finally managed to find the power button, clicking on the television. The sound of roaring applause from some game show instantly assaulted his ears and he grimaced, quickly turning down the volume.

Once it was set at a much quieter decibel, he leaned back on his elbows and began flipping through the TV stations, intent on finding the news. The local news station 'GCN' caught his eye, so he decided to leave it there as he placed the remote back on the nightstand.

Sighing again, he laid his head back down onto the pillow and closed his eyes, listening to the quiet drone of voices in the background.

It was only a half an hour later when a particularly loud commercial came on, waking Jacob up from his sleep. He groaned and reached for the remote, turning off the TV, and rested his head back down on the pillow once more.

In the black, still quiet of the room, he stared up at the ceiling. He wondered how long he'd have to stay in Gotham. While he normally would've liked to visit and experience the sights and sounds of the city, he didn't really want to spend Christmas here. He had already planned on spending it with his cousins back in Michigan. Who wanted to spend Christmas by themselves, anyway? While Gotham was probably beautiful this time of year, he did hope that the weather would improve so he could fly back home as quickly as possible. He had been traveling quite a bit for work as of late, and all he wanted right now was to be in the comfort of his own home.

_Home._

Jacob let out a deflated breath. Being a single man of twenty-six, he didn't really have much to come 'home' to. His neighbors had been taking care of his dog, Max, for the past three weeks, so he'd be sure to give him a big hug, but... _then what_?

His friends were always nagging him about how he needed to get a girlfriend and start a family, but that was all easier said than done. It wasn't that Jacob wasn't an attractive man or didn't have a friendly personality, on the contrary, he was confident he'd make a good companion. He was trustworthy, kind, caring.

But the problem was that he didn't have _time_ for a girlfriend. He wanted to settle down and raise a family just as much as the next person did... but his travels for work often hindered him from staying in one place for too long.

Pushing these thoughts aside and determined to at least get a little sleep before morning, Jacob rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. However, moments after doing so, a peculiar sound met his ears. Confused, he frowned into the darkness and trained his ear to listen more attentively.

_Crying,_ he realized, it sounded like someone was crying.

He wondered if it was that little girl that he had met earlier that evening in the lobby. She sure had been a cute little thing; he wondered what had gotten her so upset that would make her cry like she was now. Hopefully her father—or whoever that man in the strange purple suit had been—would calm her down, else he might never get to sleep.

As he lay in the darkness, waiting for her wailing to subside, he gradually came to realize that her cries were only intensifying, and soon, she was screaming at what sounded like the top of her lungs.

"Good grief," he muttered to himself. He rubbed a hand over his face, down the tightness in his jaw.

His irritation over the matter, however, quickly subsided and he soon grew concerned after listening to her cries and screams for a whole twenty minutes straight.

_Why hasn't that guy done anything to help her?_

Or worse yet... _what if he's the one making her cry__?_

That man _had_ looked rather intimidating, Jacob mused. With his strange, acidic dark eyes and garish purple suit—who dressed like that, anyway?

And then of course there were those awful disfigurements on the side of his face—the poorly-sewn, fleshy scars that crawled up either side of his mouth. He looked disconcerting, to say the least.

It was also strange how coldly the man had acted towards the little girl, almost as if he were perpetually annoyed by her. He had even shoved her away from him at one point. He shuddered at the thought that the man may be abusing the poor girl.

He mulled over it in his head for some time, and when the girl's screams did not abate, Jacob realized he couldn't just lay there and not do anything. Something just didn't add up. It didn't feel right.

Pushing back the covers from his body, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled his way over to the corner where his suitcase was resting in a cushioned chair. He blindly felt around for his clothes and quickly slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Once he had located his cell phone, he used it as a light to see in the dark as he put on his shoes. He slid his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans as his door clicked open.

Jacob's concern continued to grow as Taylor's screams intensified. He found himself quickening his pace as he let himself be guided by her screams, the sounds emanating only a few doors down from his own room, at the end of the hall.

He paused when he stood in front of the door, suddenly feeling hesitant as he poised his hand to knock. What would he say? If the man was in there with her, if he was in there abusing her... Jacob swallowed, taking an involuntary step back, unwilling to finish the thought. Perhaps he should call the police?

But he didn't know for sure if the man was hurting her. If he wasn't, and the small girl was simply crying for some other reason—was it really his place to tell the man to make her quiet? Wasn't that a little rude? Maybe he could say he was concerned and wanted to make sure everything was alright? That seemed only reasonable, right?

_Just do it. What if she's hurt and needs help? What if something bad is going on? _

With that thought, he straightened and rapped his fist against the door three times.

From inside, the little girl's loud sobs and crying screams _instantly_ stopped, and Jacob frowned. That was odd.

In the deathly silence that followed, he heard what sounded like a small thump and then light, hurried footfalls coming towards the door. He waited for someone on the other side to say or do something, but when no one responded, he decided to speak up.

"Uh, hello? Is anybody in there?" he spoke into the door, leaning closer to place his ear against it.

He was met with silence.

_This is so strange..._

"Hello?" he tried again, hesitantly. He waited a moment, but when he received no answer yet again, he sighed and went for a different approach. "_Taylor_?" he asked, remembering the girl's name from their earlier meeting. "Is that you in there?"

A small, choked voice chirped from the other side of the door in response. "Mr. J?"

It was definitely Taylor.

"Taylor, what's going on?" he pressed, still speaking to the wood of the door. "Are... are you alone?"

"Where's Mr. J?" she replied anxiously, her voice muffled.

_Is no one in there with her? _he wondered.She had been crying for nearly a half an hour, why would someone leave a child alone for that long?

"Taylor, can you open the door, please?"

After several seconds of silence had passed, Jacob realized she was crying again. He grimaced and pressed his ear up against the door once again, listening to her small sobs.

"I want Mr. J," she rasped.

He stepped closer. "You gotta let me in, sweetheart," he tried. "I'll help you find Mr. J if you just let me come inside, okay?"

Taylor sniffled from the other side of the door while silence followed. After a moment, he heard her begin to unlock the door.

Or so he thought.

"I can't open it!" she wailed, her fingers twisting at the lock on the other side of the door.

"Calm down, it's okay," he assured her, pausing as he tried to think of how he could instruct her. "Just—just turn the lock to the side, and then turn the door handle downwards, okay?" Before he had even finished his sentence, he heard the sound of the lock clicking, and, relieved, he realized Taylor had managed to unlock the door. "Now just turn the knob, alright?" he further instructed.

He heard Taylor grunting from the other side of the door and he would have smiled at her effort had the situation not been so dire. The door must have been heavy for her to try to push open. He wished he could somehow help her, but the door couldn't be opened from the outside without a keycard.

Finally, the door just barely clicked open and Jacob immediately stuck his hand inside the small crack to keep it from closing on him.

Startled, Taylor took a step backwards as Jacob stepped inside the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Smiling kindly at her, he knelt down in front of her on one knee, briefly glancing around her to see that she was indeed alone.

"Hey," he said, gently, "what's with all the crying? You woke me up from my sleep," he teased, hoping it would help lighten her mood.

"I don't know where Mr. J is," she sobbed, her eyes searching his face while Jacob studied hers, wet with tears and red from exertion.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. We'll find Mr. J. He's around here somewhere," he comforted, even though he couldn't be sure of his own words.

Jacob watched helplessly as tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks. He couldn't help but think that she looked almost alarmingly underfed, but perhaps her sharp, hollowed features were just from birth. Jacob swallowed and after a moment spoke softly.

"Is Mr. J your daddy?" he questioned, staring into Taylor's glossy eyes that were filled to the brim with more unshed tears.

She shook her head back and forth and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling. "No, he's my friend."

Jacob's brow furrowed. "Your _friend_? Are you sure he's not your uncle or... or some relative or something?" He found it hard to believe that the two of them were just 'friends', whatever that meant.

Now it was Taylor's turn to furrow her brow. She shook her head at him, barely hiding a sob.

He felt his heart breaking for her. She seemed like such a sweet, innocent little girl, and he found it hard to believe that this "Mr. J" character would so much as leave without even telling her. Where had he gone off to anyway?Perhaps he was still in the hotel somewhere?

Taylor shuddered as a hiccupped sob moved past her throat, and Jacob smiled sadly. "Hey, come here, it's alright." He outstretched his arms to her and she slowly came to him, still sobbing, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jacob picked her up from the floor and smoothed down her hair as he ran his hands up and down her back, trying to console her. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he felt her hot exhales of breath against his neck and wet tears on his shoulder.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask—how long had she been left alone, where was her mother, what was she doing at the motel in the first place (on Christmas day, no less,)—but he understood that now wasn't the right time to start hounding her with questions. Chances were she probably knew very little about what was going on in the first place.

After a few moments, Taylor had quieted some, and Jacob continued to stroke her back, trying to get her to remain calm as he thought of what to do next. Calling the police seemed like the most sensible thing to do, but what if her guardian—this 'Mr. J'—had only left for a short while?

Taylor, however, brought him back to the present when she began struggling in his arms, trying to push away. He frowned at her, concerned.

"Put me down," she begged, face going pale as she squirmed in his arms.

Worried, he set her on the ground, confused. Her feet had barely even touched the ground before her chest heaved and she puked on the carpet, right next to Jacob's shoes.

He frowned as her body began to quake, and before he knew it she was crying once again, her small frame heaving with each sob she took.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, quivering as she stared at the carpet. She swallowed and wiped at her mouth.

"Good God," Jacob murmured to himself. She must not have eaten anything for quite a while, because all she had spit up was a pale, watery liquid. He swallowed too and moved to pick her up once more. "Let's clean this up, all right?" he suggested to her gently.

He carried her into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch. He shot a quick glance in the mirror to take note of his bedraggled appearance before sitting Taylor on top of the counter, her back facing the mirror. After retrieving a washcloth, he wetted it beneath the faucet and gently wiped at Taylor's mouth, cleaning away the leftover spit. She trembled beneath his administrations and twisted her hands in her lap, her feet dangling high above the floor.

He couldn't help but think how terribly frail she was. He hadn't noticed it before when he had first seen her in the lobby, but now, as she sat shaking on the countertop, he realized how fragile and small she really was.

When she continued to shiver, Jacob quickly realized it was not from the cold, and he pressed a worried hand to her forehead, causing Taylor to shrink back in fear.

"It's alright," he assured her, and she let his palm rest against her forehead to see if she had a fever.

Taylor's skin was cool to the touch. As he drew back, he noted how pale she had become, her complexion almost sallow beneath the harsh, white florescent lights from above. He furrowed his brow as he gathered her up into his arms, flipping off the light switch to the bathroom before entering back into the main room. He sat down on the edge of one of the beds and cradled the small, trembling girl in his arms, embracing her with strong arms as he stroked her hair and whispered soothing words to her.

She choked on her sobs as she nestled her face into his chest, her tiny fingers curling around the fabric of his soft, gray t-shirt.

Whatever previous hesitations he had had about calling the police, he knew now that he had to. Taylor was suffering from neglect, it was the only reasonable explanation, and he wasn't about to leave her alone to suffer anymore.

Still holding Taylor in his arms, he reached with his free hand towards his back pocket, intent on retrieving his cell phone.

That was until Taylor suddenly started, her back going rigid, her muscles tense as she looked towards the door.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

His question was answered when the door burst open, and striding into the room, wearing that same awful, purple suit as earlier, was none other than 'Mr. J'.

The only difference was that, this time, the suit was soaked with _blood_.

The sharp, biting smell of copper was unmistakable, and Jacob stared in horror. The man's scarred face was coated in colors of white, black, and red—a horrible, grisly caricature of a circus clown. The black, cavernous eyes, white-washed face, and the crimson, Glasgow grin stunned Jacob, and he was startled into silence.

Who the hell _was_ this guy?

'J' was staring at the two of them with dark, narrowed eyes, and Taylor must have sensed the uneasiness in the situation because she slowly crawled out of Jacob's lap and moved to the top of the bed towards the headboard, her eyes trained on the Joker's the whole time.

The man licked his lips and titled his head at them, as if in curiosity, and the corners of his lips curled into a small, predatory grin.

"What ah, what do you think you're _doing_?"

Jacob stood from the bed in an attempt to not feel so small. The Joker remained rooted where he was, towering by the closed door and coated in blood. He followed Jacob's every movement with hawk-like eyes.

"Listen," Jacob began quickly, nervously. "I heard her crying so I came to see if everything was all right. She was crying for a—a long time. I was worried. I thought she was... hurt." Jacob didn't understand why he was stuttering. He wasn't normally a nervous guy. In fact, he was usually very brave, almost unusually so. Back in Michigan, it wasn't uncommon for him to go mountain climbing and white-water rafting with his friends on the weekends—he had even bungee jumped off the side of a cliff a couple of times. He was by no means a man who was scared or intimated easily... but something about J's presence was completely and utterly _unnerving_. Jacob felt sick to his stomach. This wasn't some voluntary, carefully chosen adrenaline rush like scaling the side of a cliff, or cave-diving. At least then he knew what he was getting into, knew his possible outcomes. This situation, however, was random and not wanted, and he didn't know what was going to happen. Never in his life had he felt so anxious, and his heart thudded loudly in his eardrums.

The Joker licked his lips again and took a step further into the room, shooting a quick glance at Taylor who had her back pressed up against the headboard, looking like she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the woodwork. Jacob was nearly startled out of his skin when the Joker began speaking again.

"_Hmm_," he hummed, or rather rumbled, sounding thoughtful and pleased. "Well, wasn't that just _nice_ of you, being all _concerned_ and whatnot." His voice was bizarrely out of pitch and extremely nasal, Jacob noted, the overall effect making his presence even more unsettling than it already was. The Joker smacked his lips. "I wanna know something though," he said suddenly. "Come 'ere." He gestured with a leather-gloved hand for Jacob to step closer, and after a moment, the man did, slowly. "Come on come on, I don't have all day."

Jacob swallowed down the surge of panic that had steadily fought its way up his throat, and against his better instincts, he came to stand in front of the Joker. When he was standing directly in front of the man, the smell of copper assaulting his nostrils, the Joker suddenly pulled a knife on him and pressed the blade pressed solidly against Jacob's abdomen, not hard enough to break skin, but definitely hard enough to prove a point.

The Joker would normally have pressed the object up against his victim's neck, but, as it was, it was clear to Jacob that he was trying to conceal the lethal object from Taylor's view so he wouldn't frighten her.

Jacob instantly tried to back away, but the Joker clamped a large hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer while the blade dug into the flesh of his stomach. "Why don't we ah, have a tal_k_, shall we?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low. With his hand still curled tightly around Jacob's shoulder, the Joker removed his knife and instead moved to stand behind him, shoving Jacob forward towards the door. He craned his neck back around to look at Taylor. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," he crooned with a sarcastic grin, shoving the man towards the door as Jacob, with no other choice, opened it for the two of them.

When it had closed behind them and they were out in the hallway, the Joker pushed him along. "_Your_ room," he ordered brusquely.

Jacob vainly attempted to turn around to face the man who held him in a death grip, but the Joker shoved him forward again, nearly making him stumble. There was no way that this "Mr. J" was just a _friend _of Taylor's, it didn't fit.

"What the hell are you doing with her?" he demanded as they walked down the carpeted halls at a brisk pace. Jacob twisted furiously under the Joker's firm grip until the Joker dug a knife into his back. "Are you hurting her?" he asked with a clenched jaw. "I swear if you even think about hurting—"

The Joker suddenly let out a short bark of a laugh, interrupting Jacob. "Oh I've already thought about _that_," he said with a hint of a smirk in his voice.

"You sick _freak_," Jacob spat.

The Joker laughed lowly, amused. "Yeah yeah," he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "haven't heard _that _one before."

When they arrived at the door of Jacob's room, the Joker shoved him towards it. With no other choice, Jacob pulled his key card out of his pocket and inserted it into the slot.

He was quickly shoved into the room, and, as the door closed behind them, submersing the room in pitch-black, his breathing began to quicken and his heart rate went double time.

Suddenly, hot, damp breath was assaulting his neck, and the Joker was whispering into the shell of his ear. He could feel the Joker's hair brush against the side of his face as he leaned closer.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" he whispered, each exhale of breath against Jacob's neck making shivers wrack his spine.

"No," he swallowed after a moment, feeling the Joker's long, gloved fingers curl tighter around his shoulder while the smell of blood permeated around him, enveloping him like a blanket that was intent on suffocating him.

"Hm," the Joker growled from deep within his throat. "That's really a shame," he paused. "You see, I'm a bit of a uh, _star_ around here. A little... _famous_, if you will."

Jacob swallowed again. "Famous for what?" he spat into the dark. "Kidnapping little girls and scaring them half to death?"

"Mm, a comedian, eh?" The Joker suddenly straightened to his full height, both of his hands now clasped firmly around Jacob's shoulders while the tip of his blade went skirting against the side of his neck. "We'll have to uh, fix you of that unfortunate _qual_-_it-y_."

Jacob gasped when the Joker shoved him forward, making him stumble through the darkness and land face first onto the carpet. A moment later, the overhead light came on and flooded the room, momentarily blinding him as Jacob tried to push himself up from the floor. He didn't even have time to react, however, when he found himself being hoisted up by his shirt. With a strong hand clasped at the back of his neck and one on his shirt, he suddenly found himself hauled up from the floor and onto the bed beside him.

He frantically scrambled off of it and was now trapped between the Joker and the wall behind him. The Joker was after him in a second, forcing him up harder against the wall with his switchblade pressed sharply against his neck.

"Tell me something," the clown began breathlessly, both of the men panting hard as Jacob lifted his head upwards, attempting to escape the sharpness of the blade, but only baring more of his neck in the process. "Do you have a family, _Jacob_?"

"No," he answered through clenched teeth, and for the first time ever, he was glad he didn't.

"_Gooood_," he smiled, baring his yellowed teeth as the mangled corners of his mouth twisted into a wicked grin. "Very good."

The two stared at each other for a long while, calculating and sizing each other up.

Jacob knew he was more muscular than the man who had him pinned to the wall, but he also knew that the man possessed a deceptive amount of strength hidden beneath his hunched shoulders and large, purple overcoat. In all truthfulness, he didn't know if he'd be able to escape with his life intact if he tried.

Jacob grunted after a moment, the knife that was currently digging into his skin starting to unnerve him.

"Oh, don't be scared," the clown mockingly soothed. "I'm not gonna kill you," he revealed as he leaned in closer, whispering furtively and shaking his head as if the idea were absurd. "No no no no _no_. I have much _bigger_ plans for you." The Joker licked his lips and leaned in even closer, whispering with a growl. "You see, I _own_ this city... and you work for _me _now."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Back in the motel room, Taylor remained rooted to her spot by the headboard, sitting with her head bowed into her lap while tears silently streaked down her cheeks. "I want mommy," she sobbed brokenly to herself, her voice choked with tears. She brought her head up out of her lap and pressed her hands to her eyes in a feeble attempt to soak up her tears.

She felt horrible. Her stomach was aching with hunger, her face felt hot, she was scared, and to top it all off she was just frustrated about being left alone all the time. She wanted Jacob to come back and hold her again.

Or, better yet, she wanted to go back to her _home_, go back to the way things used to be. She wasn't accustomed to all these changes that were taking place. In her whole life she had hardly ever been outside the walls of her own home and now . . . well, now she was a hundred miles away in some strange motel with a man whom she had only just met a couple of days ago.

Taylor curled her knees to her chest and dropped her head in between them, memories drifting through her mind. She thought back to a time when she had been sitting on the floor in front of the T.V. at home and was coloring in her Care Bears coloring book while her mommy watched some show about supermodels. She really missed that.

Maybe Mr. J would take her home soon if she asked him nicely?

Speaking of Mr. J, she began to wonder why he had looked and acted so strangely when he had finally come back from wherever it was he had been. His clothes had been soaking wet, and Taylor wondered if perhaps he had taken a bath in them for some reason.

She sighed wearily and hugged her legs closer to her chest as she rested her head on them, her red, fuzzy footsy pajamas warming her already hot cheeks. As her eyes aimlessly wandered around the room, she eventually came to the conclusion that she just wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her mommy again. Maybe this time if she tried really really _really_ hard her mommy wouldn't get so angry with her all the time. Maybe mommy would be happy to see her, since the two of them had been separated for so long.

Taylor remembered a particularly good time when her mother had come home from a long night at work and had brought home some gummy bears for her to snack on. She had apparently been in a good mood because after that, her mother had then proceeded to tuck Taylor into bed and read her a story about a beautiful princess named Cinderella who lived in a castle with the handsome Prince Charming.

With downcast eyes, she sighed heavily once more. Sometimes, she wished that _she_ was Cinderella. Cinderella got to wear fancy dresses and had long, wavy hair and wore sparkly diamonds around her neck. She was certain that if she could just find someone to be her Prince Charming then her princess wishes could come true and then maybe—

Taylor's head suddenly shot up when the door to the room burst open. All too soon the Joker appeared, looking completely feral and utterly _crazed_, an overwhelming stench of copper emanating from his suit and his face paint smudged and faded.

She stared at him, frightened, not knowing what to do. However, as he stepped further into the room, he didn't even glance at her as he shrugged out his jacket, breathing somewhat heavily as he did so. He stopped suddenly mid-movement when he noticed the small pile of throw-up on the floor.

He licked his lips and cocked his head to the side. "What's ah, what's _this_?"

Taylor trembled as she slowly slid off the bed, distancing herself from the Joker. "I got sick," she murmured hesitantly, watching him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry I—I didn't mean to."

He licked his lips again and finished taking off his jacket, his eyes still not meeting hers, before sliding it onto the back of the chair. He then disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. He bent down and in one swipe cleaned off the floor, carelessly discarding the towel into the trashcan by the desk.

He looked pointedly at her for the first time since his arrival and then simply stared.

Taylor hesitantly began to move closer to him as he watched her. "Mr. J," she began, slowly sidling closer, "why are your clothes wet?" Her large eyes roved up and down his tall, lean frame. "Did you take a bath . . . ?" she trailed off when his only response was to stare at her intently, his eyes narrowed. She instantly wondered if she had said something wrong.

The Joker slowly crouched down to be on her level. "Come 'ere," he said lowly, gesturing to her with his hand.

She hesitated for a moment before coming closer. Gently, she rested her small hands on either of his knees and cautiously looked up into his painted eyes.

He surprised her by pressing one of his hands to her cheeks, feeling the warmth that was radiating from her skin even from beneath the leather gloves. _Great,_ he thought sarcastically. The damn kid probably had a fever. That would explain why her face looked so hot and flushed and also why she had thrown-up earlier.

Promising himself he'd do something about it later, he removed his hand from her face and rose from the floor. Moving past her, he plopped himself down at the desk and began sorting through the papers and maps that were splayed across it.

Jacob didn't know it, but immediately after the Joker had first encountered him in the lobby, he had requested not only Durante's personal information file, but _Jacob's_ as well. The latter man's information had been a bit more difficult to gather, considering that the man didn't live in Gotham, but when the Joker demanded something, he got it— and in a pretty short amount of time, too.

Pushing Durante's papers aside, the Joker sifted through Jacob's instead. Bank statements, air travel receipts, old business letters, and even a few pictures all cluttered the desk. Earlier that morning, the Joker hadn't looked at all the papers; he had just glanced over the basics. All he had wanted to know was if Jacob was secretly working for the mob or as an undercover cop. And, as he came to find out, Jacob thankfully wasn't. He really had told the truth about flying back from Australia, after all.

What he _did _find out, however, was that Jacob worked for a small, independent company that designed and tested advanced, heavy machinery—like bazooka_s _and projectile _missiles_.

The Joker just loved _those_.

Apparently the man traveled a lot too, judging from all the air miles the man had racked up on his credit card bill.

_So this is what he does then,_ the Joker had thought to himself, licking his lips. The man flew all around the country, testing _brand new_ weaponry in remote desert fields.

_Where was all this artillery supposed to go anyway?_ he wondered. Digging through some more papers, the Joker discovered that at one time, Jacob had been a Marine and served as a soldier in the field over in Iraq for several years before retiring early. His reasons for doing so were left "unspecified" according to his file.

After his retirement, Jacob, having a degree in electrical engineering, turned towards the design and testing of nuclear weapons; which had eventually led him to his current job for the small company that simply went by the name of "Megacom."

Resting his elbows on the desk and picking up a pencil, the Joker twirled it lazily between his gloved fingers, staring off into the distance with a dangerous grin. _This_ is why he had hired Jacob. Now he had a direct, concise means of obtaining weapons for him and his boys. No more would he have to buy that cheap stuff from that conning, German swindler who always managed to cheat him out of his purchases. Guns were expensive, especially the ones that the Joker was accustomed to buying. But now, with Jacob on his side, he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.

And, as an added bonus, the weapons he would be getting from Jacob would be brand spanking new. Never before seen weapons, highly advance technology, new, innovative designs would all be at the tips of his fingers. He could outsmart all of Gotham _and _do it in style. The Joker's grin crawled even farther up his cheeks at the thought of a sleek, hot and smoking bazooka resting on his shoulder. The image practically made him drool. He did love his _toys_.

It was safe to say that Jacob most _certainly _would prove to be a valuable addition to the team. The Joker hadn't quite explained to Jacob what he'd be needing him for, but the man would find out soon enough. In the mean time, the Joker had called up a few of his boys and told them to keep an eye on Jacob and make sure he didn't try to escape.

When they had arrived, he could hear the sounds of Jacob's body repeatedly being slammed into the wall as four other men beat him and forced him to the ground. The Joker had heard this because he had stayed and watched. His tall, purple frame loomed in the doorway while he watched his thugs, clown masks and all, beat mercilessly on Jacob, their fists pummeling his ribs. The sounds of smashing fits, gasps of pain, and cracking bones made the Joker nod appreciatively before leaving the room, letting his boys finish the job. The Joker had, of course, told them to rough Jacob up a little bit, "to ah, show him the ropes, so to speak. Welcome him to the _team_ and all that."

Considering Jacob was a _forced_ recruit, all the physical roughness had been necessary. Jacob had to be _beat into submission_ somehow, after all, so why not _. . . literally_?

Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the events that had taken place only five minutes earlier, the Joker dug his cell phone out of his pocket, wanting to call one of his boys that was currently staking out Durante's home. He was eager to know if the mob boss had returned yet and seen his gift. Anna was probably long dead by now; in fact, after what he had put her through, he doubted she had survived more than a few minutes after he'd left.

The Joker was about to dial a number when he suddenly felt a small tug on his suspenders. He looked down to see Taylor looking up at him, her fingers curled loosely around the green and white diamond-patterned straps. "Mr.—Mr. J?" she began softly, hesitantly. "My tummy really . . . _really_ hurts." She waited with bated breath as he eyed her closely.

As he looked at her, he came to realize that he hadn't fed her in a while—it must have been like, what, _yesterday morning_ when she had last eaten? He couldn't even remember.

Well, that would just have to be changed. He himself was kind of in the mood for something to eat, anyway.

With that decided, he rose from his seat, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his trousers, but not before pulling out his pocket watch and lifting the gold cover to glance at the clock's glassy face. It was somewhere in the wee early hours of the morning, but Rob, the manager, was just going to have to deal with that.

He smiled at Taylor, suddenly finding himself in a much better mood after getting so much accomplished in so little time. He scooped her up into his arms, looking at her. "What do you want to eat, doll face?"

She stared at his scars for a moment, mesmerized by their vivid red color, before finally lifting her eyes up towards his.

He could sense that she was scared of him again, intimidated by his appearance and strange, changing demeanor. One second he seemed mad at her and the next he was smiling like everything was fine. She didn't understand his moods, yet she accepted them, because her mother had practically been the same way.

Regardless though, she remained on edge just in case he decided to revert back to being angry.

"I don't know," she finally answered. Inside, she was secretly excited. No one had _ever _asked her what she wanted to eat before; usually her mother would just bring back whatever food she could afford. But now . . . _now _Mr. J was asking her what _she_ wanted. She could hardly believe it, yet she remained quiet anyway, still afraid to disrupt his pleasant mood.

He read her face easily and the emotions she tried to keep hidden. "We'll find something good then, hm?"

She nodded her head in response and then shifted in his arms, refusing to meet his eyes as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

He smiled to himself as he wrapped his arm around her almost protectively, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway as he made his way towards the lobby.

Once there, he set Taylor down on the floor by the counter and then made his way behind it.

The T.V. had been shut off long ago, and the lights had been dimmed to their lowest settings, providing just enough of a glow to see into the corners of the room. Outside, the early morning was still pitch black, the lamplights from the parking lot casting an eerie glow through the windows.

Taylor stood by the side of the counter, anxiously twisting her hands behind her back as she watched the Joker wrap loudly on the manager's door.

"Rob" was there in practically no time at all, his hair disheveled and eyes wide and alert. His clothes looked rumpled as well. He was dressed in gray lounging pants and an old, holey white t-shirt. "Yeah boss?" he asked immediately, his voice still slightly groggy, but not in a disrespectful or nonchalant way, Rob made sure of that. He didn't want to unintentionally piss him off and give the Joker a reason to gut him.

The Joker licked his lips and swallowed. "Thee ah, the little lady is a bit hungry here," he explained, gesturing towards the little girl who was cowering behind the counter. "What'd you got?"

The man looked confused for a moment and then quickly straightened. "Oh." He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. "The kitchen's this way." He gestured to another door that was directly beside his bedroom as the Joker turned and motioned for Taylor to follow.

After Rob flipped on a small switch, a dim overhead light came on, making the light reflect off the window above the sink. The room was extremely small with only a small wooden table in the center of the room accompanied by three mismatched, metal fold-out chairs. The walls were plain and white while the baby blue countertop was chipped and faded. A jar of Jiffy peanut butter was left opened on the counter and sat next to a box of Ritz crackers.

Rob stood awkwardly in the kitchen, not quite sure what to do. He wasn't sure if he should offer to make them fix them up some food or something. He didn't really think that was a good idea though, considering he wasn't that great of a cook. He could scramble eggs well enough, but he wasn't in the running for America's Top Chef, that he knew.

"You can have anything you want," he offered. "There's a bunch of stuff in the fridge, and cereal and bread and other stuff is—is in the cabinets."

The Joker nodded his head wordlessly, his eyes roaming around the kitchen while Taylor stood in the doorway, looking worried.

"You—you need anything else?" he asked hesitantly when the Joker didn't move.

The clown seemed to snap out of his trance and finally turned to address the man. "Yeah," he replied. "I need you to phone Johnny—find out if Durante's come home yet. I need to know. _Now_."

"Sure thing, boss." With one last glance, he left the room, awkwardly squeezing past Taylor in the doorway as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

When Rob had left, the Joker suddenly spoke up, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Hey, come 'ere," he called. "What do you want?" He opened the fridge, the hinges on the door squeaking loudly, and glanced inside, instantly met with quite an array of food. There were a few Chinese cartons, mashed potatoes and steak in a Ziploc container, leftover pizza, pickles, cans of diet Coke—practically every kind of food you could ask for. Upon a quick inspection of the freezer, the Joker found that to be loaded, too.

Taylor eventually appeared at his side, clinging to his leg as she stared into the refrigerator with him. They were both silent, deciding on what to eat, when Taylor spoke up. "Can I have the pancakes?" she questioned timidly, moving forward only slightly to point towards them.

He raised his brows, amused at her food choice, but ultimately relented and grabbed the plate that they were on. He ripped off the plastic wrap and carelessly dumped the plate inside the microwave to heat it up.

"I've never had pancakes before," she announced suddenly, attempting to break the awkward silence. " . . . Do _you_ like them?" She looked up to finally meet his eyes, noticing that his face looked even more garish than usual, the harsh glow from the fridge illuminating all the deep crevices and lines in his face that the face paint only made more prominent.

The Joker finally closed the fridge and went back over to the microwave once it had beeped. He realized that she was still waiting for an answer to his question, but he didn't feel like answering her. He silently took the plate out of the microwave and easily slid it onto the kitchen table. He located two forks and paper plates, along with some syrup, and dropped them onto the table as he seated himself in one of the chairs.

Taylor daintily crawled up into the chair next to him and pulled her chair closer by grabbing onto the table, the metal legs screeching against the floor. She looked at the food in front of her with bright eyes. She was absolutely _ravenous _and her mouth was watering in delicious anticipation for her meal.

The Joker carefully removed his gloves and set them on the table next to him and grabbed two pancakes, flopping them onto his plate and drowning them in syrup.

She watched all this take place interestedly, noting the way his pancakes were completely soaked in the strange, honey-brown liquid.

After a moment, Taylor finally did the same thing, eagerly grabbing a pancake and placing it on her paper plate, dousing it with maple syrup. "Did I do it right?" she mumbled, her eyes downcast as her sticky fingers were preoccupied with spreading the syrup around with her hands.

Sighing, he rolled his eyes and glanced back down at his plate, picking up his fork. "Yup, you did it right, pumpkin," he replied sarcastically, taking a bite.

For the next fifteen minutes, the two of them ate in silence, the Joker entertaining himself with watching Taylor attempt to eat her pancakes. He smirked at her using her hands instead of the fork that was sitting next to her. He then realized, somewhat disdainfully, that he'd have to wash her hands off when they were done eating. That wiped the smirk off his face.

As he resumed eating his meal, he kept his eyes trained on the little girl next to him the whole time. He leaned back in his chair, forearms on the table and legs sprawled underneath it as his eyes closely watched her face. She kept her head down while she ate, preoccupied with her meal, and it was then that he suddenly realized something.

Taylor . . ._ belonged_ to him.

Not_ technically_ speaking of course, it's not like he had adopted her or anything, (and he never would, obviously,) but there was a part of him that felt like she truly was _his_. Now that her whore of a mother was out of the picture, Taylor didn't have anyone else to take care of her—not that her mother would have done that anyway, but at least now the Joker was certain of the fact. No one would come looking for her and no one would be sad if she went missing. Her father obviously didn't care, wherever the hell he was. No one cared about her except _him_.

The Joker, of all people, was the only one who had bothered to "take care" of her. In fact, if it hadn't of been for him, she probably would have died days ago because of the winter cold. Her refusal to leave her "home" told him that she wouldn't have tried to get food elsewhere, either, meaning that she possibly could have starved to death as well.

He couldn't believe how quickly and how drastically things had changed for him. Never in a million years would he have thought that he'd be carting around a little girl with him and sitting at a table with her eating pancakes at four in the morning. It was so . . . _odd_.

Strange as it was though, he couldn't deny that he didn't like it, if maybe just a _little_. Sure, she got on his nerves and asked _way _too many questions, but she was kind of . . . _nice_ . . . to have around sometimes.

He wasn't growing too attached to her though, of course. She was still of use to him and served a purpose; he wasn't just carting her around with him for the hell of it.

Even so, all that didn't matter. Taylor's mother was taken care of and out of the picture, he had a _very_ useful tool on his side in the form of Jacob,_ and _he already had plans and ideas brewing in his mind for when his meeting with Durante would take place.

Speaking of Durante, the Joker began to wonder yet again if the man had stumbled upon the little surprise he had left for him yet. The Joker wished he could have stayed to see the man's reaction to his Christmas present, but given the delicate balance of the situation, he had felt that it hadn't been the right time.

His wandering thoughts taking a momentary pause, he put his fork down for just a moment and looked up from his food to find Taylor's mouth stuffed full with pancakes, syrup dripping down her chin. Before he could stop himself, he suddenly found himself laughing—_genuinely _laughing, something he hadn't done to this extent in quite a while. He wasn't cackling madly like he usually did, nor was he laughing obnoxiously or breathlessly, it was just a normal, amused laughed. He hadn't even thought he was capable of doing that anymore, but seeing Taylor, looking completely ridiculous, _really _made him smile, his cheeks stretched wide and his eyes gleaming.

Taylor obviously didn't understand what was so funny. In fact, she looked downright scared, and she immediately froze, her face stuffed full, and that only seemed to make the Joker laugh even harder. "You really are a _riot_, you know that?" he finally asked when his laughs had died down.

She didn't quite know how to answer, so she just went about swallowing her mouthful of pancake.

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence. The Joker had consumed four pancakes while Taylor had eaten two, albeit at a much slower pace, which ultimately made the Joker end up waiting for her to finish.

She still had some more to go, and the Joker, restless, got up from the table and paced the room, finally coming to stop in front of the backdoor to stare out the window into the dark, watching more of his reflection in the glass than anything else.

As he thoughtfully stared into the reflection of his own black eyes, he suddenly heard Taylor let out a loud, shrill scream.

He immediately spun around to see a panicked Taylor trying quickly to get out of her chair. In her struggle, the metal chair went crashing to the floor, leaving her lying flat on her back. Terrified, she gasped as she hurriedly got to her feet and ran straight towards the Joker, crashing straight into him and clawing at his suit. She looked at him with begging, desperate eyes. "Don't let him get me!" she cried as she tried to claw her way into his arms. She looked behind her and let out another shrill scream as the Joker looked down at her, dumbfounded.

He immediately bent down and picked her up into his arms, in which she more than willingly jumped into. She clutched her arms around his neck fiercely, shaking as she dared a glance behind her.

It was then that he noticed a large German shepherd standing in the doorway, looking at the two of them with curious, glinting eyes.

The Joker suddenly growled angrily, frustrated over the fact that she was scared of a _dog_. "Cut that out," he barked at her irritably, carelessly letting her slip out of his arms and back to the floor, "or I'll give you something to cry about."

"Hold me, please!" she begged, clutching at him once again.

"It's just a _dog_," he said through gritted teeth, looking down at her with a stone expression.

"He's going to get me!" she tried to reason, finally moving behind him and clutching at his thigh, trying to distance herself from the dog as much as possible.

"He's not going to 'get you'," he replied blandly, annoyed with her antics.

"Yes he is!" she sobbed, finally breaking down into tears.

The Joker sighed irritably. He hated when she acted this way—all timid one minute and then clinging to him desperately the next. What this girl needed was some _serious _sleep. He might not be the World's Greatest Babysitter, but he did know one or two things about caring for a small child, and one was that kids got either cranky or emotional when they didn't get their sleep—which was _exactly _what Taylor needed at the moment.

Turning around, he picked her up, immediately feeling how tense she was as she securely wrapped her legs around his waist. She wasn't planning on letting go this time.

He carried her over to the sink and turned the tab, icy cold water spilling out of the facet. He made her lean over into the sink and she got the message, removing her hands from around his neck and rinsing them off with soap and water so they weren't sticky from syrup anymore. When she was done she wiped her hands on a nearby kitchen towel.

As the Joker turned from the sink, still carrying her in his arms, she let out another small scream upon noticing that the shepherd was now fully in the kitchen, sniffing curiously at the chair that lay on the floor.

He wanted to slap her for being so ridiculous, but he realized that that probably wasn't such a great idea no matter how tempted he was.

Instead, he ripped her off of him and set her down on the floor, instantly making a scream tear from her throat. "Knock it off," he growled, striding past her as she followed closely at his heels, whimpering.

Suddenly, Rob appeared in the doorway, his hair swept to the side at an awkward angle and his face looking flustered. He leaned a hand against the doorway as the Joker stood by the table.

"Boss," he said breathlessly, "Durante got in fifteen minutes ago, he saw."

The Joker instantly straightened, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. "_And_?" he asked impatiently.

"He called the police. They're at the house right now. They know it's you though, boss, you're all over the news. Gotham knows you're back."

A wide, dangerous smile stretched the Joker's cheeks and he retrieved his gloves from the table, slipping them on with renewed energy. "I haven't even started yet!" he giggled to himself, still smiling. He was about to push past Rob in the doorway, Taylor still clinging to his leg, when the manager hesitantly held up a hand to stop him, suddenly looking nervous.

"That's not all though," he said slowly, watching the Joker's expression warily.

"We-_ll_?" he prodded, completely on edge, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

"He . . . _he_ knows you're here boss. You—you have to get out of here," he whispered.

His tongue snaked over his painted lips quickly, staring at the man with dark eyes. "Who? Who knows I'm here?"

". . . The Black Mask."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Notes: **__In case some of you were not aware, __**Black Mask **__is real villain from the DC Comics universe. My interpretation of him is not going to follow the comic book one exactly, only because I do hope to "Nolanize" his character and make him more sinister and darker, much like what Nolan and Heath did with the Joker. Anyway, if you would like to see a picture of him, please visit this website:_

comicbookmovie(DOT)com/images/users/uploads/9357/Batman%205%2014%20black-mask-1(DOT)jpg

ALSO:

upload(DOT)/wikipedia/en/d/da/Bat636(DOT)jpg

_Obviously, you need to replace the (DOT) with a real dot, but you knew that already. _;)_ I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"So_ that's_ what they're calling him, eh?" The Joker smirked. "It's so . . . _unoriginal_." He rolled his eyes dramatically, folding his arms across his chest. "He obviously wears a mask then, righ_t_?"

The manager, Rob, grimaced in turn to his boss's question, recalling a picture he had seen of the new villain in some tabloid paper only a few weeks prior. "Actually, his mask—it's . . . it's _melted_ onto his face."

The Joker suddenly barked with laughter, slapping the table as his eyes lit up in amusement. "_Melted _onto his _face_? What'd he do, get caught in a burning building?"

Rob hesitated to answer, but he didn't have to when another voice suddenly chimed in for him. "Actually, yes."

The Joker and Rob both turned to see another man walking towards them, his clothes slightly worn and a faded black eye patch over his left eye. A wooden cane rested at his right side as he ambled towards them with a slight limp.

"Alex." A wide grin suddenly broke out over the Joker's face. As he neared the Joker amiably slapped a hand over the man's back. "You son of a bitch. Where've you been?" he grinned.

"Finding out more about Black Mask, as you requested. I apologize it took so long." The man's voice had a slow cadence to it and he talked quietly, as if it physically hurt him to raise his voice. Despite this, his words were clear-cut and precise, and he accentuated his words with acute deliberateness. He sighed and rested his weight on his cane. "He's a hard man to crack, Black Mask. He has no noticeable fingerprints or any other distinguishing features, making it almost impossible to identify him . . . but I did manage to obtain his information."

Alex's general air and manner of speech suggested that he was born of high class, yet at the same time, his slightly worn-out clothes and eye patch seemed to suggest otherwise. His one good eye drooped something terrible and looked haggard, as if it had seen all the horrors of the world and lived to tell the tale. His hands were dotted with brown spots that had gradually accumulated with age and his skin was tanned.

"Good," the Joker rumbled in response to Alex's information. A devious smirk slid across his features. "Tell me what you found."

The elder man nodded, his gaze briefly wandering towards Taylor, glancing over her uninterestedly before turning back towards the Joker. "His real name is Roman Sionis, heir to Gotham's powerful Janus Cosmetics. You heard of it?" The Joker shook his head no and Alex continued on, unfazed. "He was driven to bankruptcy after a highly toxic waterproof makeup went out on the market. He was spared from ruin by a WayneCorp bailout, but after that, it didn't matter." Alex stopped, thinking over his next words carefully. "He's completely _deranged_, Joker," he said, his tone serious. "He's attempting to regain his former glory by ruling the Gotham underworld. There's only one man getting in his way—and that's you."

"How's that?"

Alex shifted his weight and then winced when he put too much pressure on his bad leg. When he looked up again, he shook his head forlornly. "To put it simply, Joker, you're stealing his limelight. Black Mask wants you dead, and since he knows that Batman won't do it, he's setting out to do the job himself. Once he has the upper hand, he'll probably set out to kill Batman as well."

The Joker took in this information wordlessly, listening with rapt attention. Once Alex had finished, the clown shook his head ardently, his eyes suddenly livid and his tone dark. "He can't kill Batman," he growled fervently. "I—I _need _him."

Alex and Rob exchanged furtive glances with one another while the Joker began to shuffle through his pockets frantically, searching for his cell phone. "This isn't going to happen," he said angrily. "_I _run this city. And he's _not_ going to get in the way."

Once he had located his cell phone, he tossed it towards Rob and the man caught it in his hands, momentarily confused. "Get Wilks on the phone. Tell him I need a car and a place to set up base. He'll know what to do."

"What are you going to do about Durante?" Alex inquired, his one eye narrowed.

"Nothing. This ah, this _Black Mask _here will probably take care of him soon enough. Durante was just a cover-up for him all along. He's not important."

Alex nodded while Rob momentarily stepped out of the kitchen, busy on the phone. Taylor suddenly made a whimpering noise behind the Joker to get his attention and he and Alex both turned to look at her.

"Who's the little one?" the elder man asked, gesturing at her with a small lift of his cane. "You mentioned her briefly on the phone the other day. You didn't mention however that she was so . . . cute." The last word seemed to slip off his tongue awkwardly, as if 'cute' wasn't a word he used often, if ever, in his daily vocabulary.

The Joker stepped to the side to reveal the small girl who was trying to cower behind his leg. "Care to ah, _introduce_ yourself, sweetheart?"

Taylor nodded her head back and forth shyly, attempting to hide behind his leg again. She was stopped though when he suddenly pulled on her arm, dragging her forward so he could hoist her up into his arms. She buried her face in the crook of his neck while the Joker sighed through his nose, annoyed.

"She's just . . . apart of the plan." The Joker trusted Alex a lot—in fact, the two of them had been working together for a very, very long time, but there were some things that the Joker liked to keep to himself, and the subject of Taylor and what he was planning on doing with her was one of them.

"She related?"

"No."

Alex absently scratched under his eye patch before dropping his hand. "I see."

He knew better than to question the Joker further, at least not about this. The Joker was an eccentric man, and hell, if he wanted to cart around some little girl, then so be it. He wasn't going to question the Joker's motives—never had. That was the only reason why he was still alive, too. Guys who worked for the Joker generally didn't last all that long—he, however, was one of the few that had. And even though he was older than the Joker by many years, Alex knew that despite this, the Joker was the one who held the power. He was boss, and you don't question the boss—ever.

Rob promptly returned, tossing the cell phone back to the Joker who caught it with one hand, Taylor's face still buried in his neck as he held her with the other.

"Anders and Wilks are on their way. They've got a car."

"Get my stuff from the room. All of it," the Joker replied, pocketing his phone.

Rob wordlessly nodded his head, leaving the three of them alone again in the kitchen.

"So, what's the plan?"

The Joker strode past Alex in the doorway, moving into the lobby while Alex followed behind him, limping. "All in good time, my friend, all in good time." He set Taylor down on the floor and she whimpered when the dog appeared from the kitchen, his tail wagging eagerly, as if it knew that something exciting was about to happen.

"There's a big storm coming," Alex said suddenly, changing the subject and watching Taylor as she clung to the Joker's leg. "Once you get whatever it is you're going, you're probably going to have to stay there for a while."

The Joker licked his lips thoughtfully. "I need time to think, anyway," he replied quietly. He furrowed his brow as he strode over to the couch, lazily dropping himself onto it.

Alex gradually limped over to stand across from him on the other side of the glass coffee table. Cradling his cane under his arm, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"Still haven't kicked the habit, I see," the Joker mused, smirking as he propped his feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles as he folded his arms over his chest.

Alex raised his brows in amusement as he focused his attention on lighting the cigarette. "It's a hard habit to kick," he retorted, the cigarette bobbing form the corner of his mouth as he spoke. He dropped the lighter back into his pocket and took a slow drag. "I suppose you don't want one." It was more of statement then a question, but the Joker nodded his head back and forth anyway. A slew of smoke blew out from between the other man's lips.

He tucked his free hand into his pocket and gripped his cane with the other, motioning towards the door with it before putting it back on the floor. "I better get out of here." He heaved a heavy sigh, removing the cigarette from his lips. "You stay out of trouble, you hear?" A trace of a smile flickered across the older man's weathered face.

"Well you know I do _try_," the Joker smirked. He nodded in goodbye before waving the man off.

Alex nodded back and then turned towards Taylor who was still standing hesitantly beside the counter. "See ya around, kiddo."

After he had exited, the Joker lazily turned his eyes toward Taylor, watching her as she bent down to hesitantly pet the dog's head. When it nuzzled her hand, however, she jumped back in surprise, squealing as she made a hasty retreat, running towards the couch and pulling herself up onto it. She tried to wrap her arms around the Joker and bury her face in his neck again, but he irritably pushed her away.

She looked hurt by his actions, but he ignored her, sighing tiredly as slid further down the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it. They had some time to kill before his boys got here with the car, so he figured he'd rest for a few moments until then.

He was vaguely aware that Taylor was watching him as he stared at the back of his eyelids. She blinked and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and then shifted so that she was kneeling, resting her weighton the back of her calves. "Are you sleepy?" she asked curiously, her voice high.

For once, he decided to actually answer one of her questions. "I am," he said with closed lids, one of his arms resting limply over his abdomen.

She took in this information wordlessly as silence ensued between the two of them. After a moment, she gradually began to inch closer to him, waving a hand over his face to see if he was a sleep. She had seen people do it on T.V., and although she wasn't really sure why they did it, she figured she'd try it anyway.

The Joker was secretly aware of what she had just done, but he ignored her, feigning sleep instead. She seemed satisfied with his unresponsiveness however and slowly laid herself down next to him. She kept her eyes on him the whole time as she hesitantly laid her head on his thigh, laying on her side. When he didn't move, she sighed contentedly and let her eyes flutter close, attempting sleep.

It was a few minutes later when Rob entered the room, box in hand. The Joker lifted his head from the back of the couch as he watched Rob put his box on the counter. "Is there anything else I can do, boss?" he asked quietly. It amused the Joker that the man was so hesitant and scared around him, even when the Joker was in an obvious state of calm. Regardless, the Joker preferred it that way. He demanded respect at all times—and that fact he had obviously made clear, too, seeing as how Rob was even so hesitant as to just speak to him. _Good_, he thought to himself. Rob was a rather smart one, he had to admit, not like some of his other thugs. _They _were usually crass and a much too forward for the Joker's taste. He usually ended up killing guys like that without a second thought.

"Put that in the car when it arrives," he replied, referring to the box. "You sure you got everything?"

"Everything's all here, boss."

The Joker grunted his approval. "Let me know when the boys get here."

Rob nodded wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen, the German shepherd picking itself up from the floor and trotting along after him.

The Joker sighed again and briefly looked around the room before dropping his eyes down into his lap where Taylor was apparently snoozing quite comfortably. He smirked faintly, staring down at her little tangled, ringlet curls.

Without even giving it much thought, he removed one leather glove from his hand and dropped it next to him. Then he suddenly found his hand moving gently through her hair, feeling the soft, textured locks beneath his fingertips. He idly twirled a lock of her hair around his finger as he looked down at her with a thoughtful expression, regarding her silently as she slept. She sure was a pretty little thing, he mused. The Joker found himself smiling despite himself as he thought about how beautiful she would be when she got older. He could just picture men falling at her feet as she confidently walked the streets of Gotham. She was gonna be a _stunner_, that much the Joker was sure of.

That was, of course, if she even _lived_ that long.

As he sifted her curls through his fingers, he realized that he never thought someone's hair could be so soft and . . . nice. His hands were frequently in other peoples' hair—but only ever to wrench their head back, and even then he almost always had his gloves on, so he never actually got to_ feel_ what their hair was like.

Suddenly, he felt something drip onto his leg and he leaned forward slightly to see that Taylor had just drooled on his pants. He rolled his eyes dramatically and settled back into the couch. At least _she_ was finally getting some sleep. He didn't want her to be cranky. There was no way in hell he would put up with an attitude, least of all from her.

But now that he had thought about, he figured that he had actually been pretty lucky thus far. Even though she did ask a lot of questions, she so far hadn't proved to be too demanding or high maintenance—which was good, for her part, he mused, because the second she started acting out, he sure as hell would not hesitate to knock some sense into her. Quite literally.

For the next half an hour, he aimlessly sifted through her curls as he stared out the window, hardly even aware of what he was doing anymore. Eventually he was running his hands up and down her back, rubbing circles into her fuzzy PJ's while she slept.

The whole building was eerily quiet. A faint hum could be heard from the vending machines just outside the door, and occasionally the dishwasher in the kitchen would make a gurgling noise, but otherwise it had been fairly silent.

The clock on the back wall between the entrance of the kitchen and Rob's room read 6:21 AM. The Joker thoughtfully shifted his gaze back outside again, Alex's words about a "big storm" replying in his head. The sky outside was gray and dark and would probably remain that way for the rest of the day. Small, white flakes began to flutter around outside in the wind, the first of many more to come.

Rob suddenly appeared from the back room, the dark circles under his eyes even more apparent now that there was more light coming in through the windows. "They're here," he announced solemnly, trying not to let his eyes linger where Taylor was so intimately lying on the Joker's lap. _God,_ he thought to himself, he hadn't seem someone get so close to the Joker in his whole life. Not like _that_. _She must be one special little girl . . . . _

The Joker pulled back on his gloves and lifted himself from the couch, Taylor waking instantly, looking confused as her long lashes fluttered sleepily. She saw the Joker making his way towards the door and she squirmed to get off the couch. "Where are you going?" she called after him frantically, her voice hoarse from sleep.

He was already outside by the time she had spoken, the door slamming loudly behind him. Taylor looked towards Rob confusedly as he lifted the Joker's box off the counter, her backpack resting at the very top of it. He offered her a comforting smile, though it was a bit forced, and then motioned for her to follow him out the door.

She did eagerly, running towards him as he held open the door for her with one hand. She stepped outside onto the porch and shivered. It was freezing. Her eyes searched anxiously for the Joker and she spotted him further on down in a shady part of the parking lot, under the snow-covered pine trees. A relived smile broke out over her face. She was about to run towards him when she suddenly turned back to Rob who was closing the door behind him.

"Where's Teddy?" she asked quickly, looking up at him with resoluteness in her eyes. She wasn't going _anywhere_ without her bear.

Rob looked nervously at her, no idea as to what she was referring to. _Please don't cry,_ he silently begged her, _the Joker will have my head._

"Wait," he said suddenly, swallowing thickly as realization dawned on him, "you mean this?" He pulled a small brown bear from the box and Taylor's face immediately lit up. She snatched it eagerly from him and smiled as she cuddled her bear.

With the small girl contently cradling her stuffed animal, the two of them made their way across the parking lot towards the Joker. When they neared the dark blue Jetta, the Joker briefly glanced at the both of them, silently ordering Rob with his eyes to place his items in the trunk of the car.

Two other men suddenly came into view from around the front of the car, their frames not visible from under the dark pines. As they appeared, both of them eyed Taylor interestedly while she frowned at them, not liking the look on their faces. She shifted closer to Rob once he had unloaded the Joker's box into the trunk and closed it.

One of the men, a shorter man in his early twenties with thin, light brown hair and a faint, five o'clock shadow over his jaw, had a white cast over one arm. He was dressed in gray slacks and a thin, black winter coat. The Joker referred to him as Wilks.

The other man, who had not taken his eyes off Taylor ever since he had seen her coming across the parking lot, was dressed in all black, his long-sleeved jacket only half zipped. He was tall, nearly the same height as the Joker, and had straight, sandy-colored hair that touched his shoulders. The sleeves to his jacket were rolled up to his forearms despite the cold, revealing a myriad of horizontal scars that were littered haphazardly on the front and undersides of each arm.

Taylor couldn't take her eyes off the man. For whatever reason, he unnerved her greatly and she immediately didn't like him. His black eyes followed her with an intense gaze, his mouth pulled into a tight frown.

The Joker must have been asking the man a question because when he didn't answer there was suddenly a flash of purple. Taylor watched with wide eyes as the Joker's iron fist suddenly collided with the man's nose. The sudden outburst took everyone off guard, and they watched wordlessly as the Joker grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket and slammed his back up against the side of the car. The man struggled slightly as blood poured from his nose and over his lips. The Joker pressed him roughly into the car and growled. "If I _ever _catch you looking at her like that again I will not hesitate to _personally_ peel your flesh from your bones. Very. _Slow-ly_." He stared at the man with cold, calculating eyes. "Have I made myself clear?"

The man known as Anders only grimaced, clenching his jaw tightly and briefly running his tongue over his bloody lips. "_Crystal_," he replied through gritted teeth, his voice clear-cut and sharp as knives. The Joker glared at him for a few moments longer before roughly letting him go.

Anders straightened out his jacket and glowered at the Joker with narrowed eyes behind his back. "Now," the Joker restated, looking at Wilks, "tell me where we're going."

Wilks nodded, pulling a map from his back pocket and spreading it out on the trunk of the car as the Joker shot Anders another dangerous glare, his eyes as black as night. He eventually shifted his eyes away and moved towards the back of the car, staring down at the map. "We're going here," Wilks said as he pointed to a heavily wooded area, even more so than the one they were in now. "It's my uncle's old summer house. He never uses the thing anymore but it's in real good shape," he assured. "There's a lake and everything. Real quiet place; no neighbors."

"Good," the Joker replied shortly. "How far we talkin'?"

"It's about an hour up the road. Three from the city. No one's gonna look for you up there, boss."

The Joker thought over his proposition, already deciding that he liked the idea. "You can keep the other car," he said offhandedly to Rob, gesturing to the car parked by the entrance. "I think _they've_ been following it. Get rid of it or do what you're gonna do with it." He paused. "We're uh, we're gonna need _yours_," he said to Rob.

"Sure thing, boss," he replied, quickly digging his keys out of his pocket and tossing them to the Joker.

The Joker turned to face Anders who hadn't spoken a word, only to find him looking at Taylor again. He quickly averted his eyes to the ground as if he had been staring there the whole time. He glowered and straightened out his shoulders, still watching Anders out of the corner of his eye. "Let's get going then," he said lowly, finally ripping his eyes off Anders to look at Rob again.

"Jacob's going to stay here," he said to him. "Make sure he's well fed; get him whatever he needs. _Don't _let him talk on the phone. I want someone in that room with him at all times." He rattled off the list of things that were at the top his head. "Keep an eye on him for me and you'll see more of _this_." He plucked a small wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it to Rob.

He eagerly caught it in his hands and flipped through the bills—all hundreds. "Yes sir," he replied enthusiastically, pocketing the bills.

"Mazel tov." The Joker grinned devilishly as he plucked a set of car keys from Wilks' hand. "I'm driving."

Wilks folded his map and then pocketed it. "What about the girl?"

The Joker ran his tongue over his lips contemplatively, furtively glancing towards Anders. "Well she's coming too, obviou_s_-ly," he replied slowly, his tongue pushing at the insides of his scarred cheeks. "You," he suddenly said, speaking louder this time as he looked at Anders, "you'll take the other car and follow us."

He threw Rob's keys at Anders and he caught them easily. He then grumbled and stalked off across the parking lot, still looking extremely pissed over what had happened just moments before.

The Joker shook his head in disbelief. "Someone needs an attitude adjustment," he sing-songed to himself.

Wilks and Rob both exchanged furtive glances but otherwise didn't say anything.

Taylor, on the other hand, looked positively frightened. She had been standing close to Rob's side the whole time, listening attentively to the men converse with one another but not understanding anything in the least of what they were talking about. The wind had been whipping around her fiercely, and she was freezing, standing in the snow with only her footsy pajamas on. She desperately wanted to run towards the Joker and cling to him in her confusion, beg him to hold her in his arms—but she somehow sensed that now wasn't a good time to do that.

She was so puzzled as to what was going on. All she knew was that they were going someplace else now. Maybe they were finally going to visit Mr. J's friend like they had planned all along? She hoped they wouldn't stay long though, wherever it was that they were going. She still needed to get back home before her mommy did.

She wanted to voice this concern to the Joker, but despite how confused and inquisitive she was at the moment, she was even more frightened. She didn't understand why Mr. J had thrown that man up against the car. Seeing him do that had really scared her. She had never seen him act so cruel towards someone and it really unnerved her. Normally Mr. J was so nice, always making people smile when they were sad or crying, but what Mr. J had done only a few minutes ago seemed so out of character for him.

She tensed when she suddenly found herself being hoisted into his arms. She tried to put as much distance between their bodies as physically possible, but it didn't quite work. The Joker noticed this and shot her a confused look before opening the driver's side back door and depositing her in the backseat.

Rob hurriedly said goodbye and went back to his motel while Wilks dropped into the passenger seat next to the Joker as he started the engine. He revved it up, smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe and into the icy air, his tongue eagerly snaking out across his chapped lips.

"We're on."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

The car ride was mostly silent the way there, as car rides with the Joker usually were. Both he and Wilks remained quiet and still in the front seat, occasionally exchanging hushed words that Taylor couldn't hear or just didn't understand. She sat in the backseat, still a bit shaken after having seen the Joker punch Anders in the face. She absently nipped at her bottom lip as the scene kept replaying itself in her head. She remembered how Mr. J had been as fast as lightening and the way Anders' nose had cracked when the Joker's fist went flying into it. She remembered the sound of the man's back slamming painfully into the side of the car, and then finally how blood had erupted from his nose. She couldn't believe Mr. J would do such a horrible, vicious thing. She desperately wanted to ask why he had done it, but she was terrified that the question would only serve to anger him.

She watched as Wilks turned in his seat to glance at her, eyeing her almost confusedly before turning back to the Joker. She could just barely make out his words. "She talk, boss?" He gestured to her with his thumb while the Joker stared blankly at the road ahead.

"You have no idea."

Taylor furrowed her brows and played with a fuzzy piece of lint on her pajamas somewhat anxiously. She couldn't decide if it was okay to speak or not. She cleared her throat and lifted her head. "Mr.—Mr. J?" she called uncertainly. Wilks turned around to glance at her again and she eyed him once before turning her attention back to the Joker who was seated in front of her. "Mr. J, I'm really thirsty," she announced softly.

When he didn't respond, Wilks spoke up instead. "We're about fifteen minutes out," he said to the Joker.

Fifteen minutes, however, eventually turned into thirty because the roads were icy and they were thus reduced to traveling at a slower, more careful pace. The road ahead was narrow and curvy, the black pavement winding its way through pine and cedar trees that lined either side of the road. No cars passed them as they traveled farther and farther away from the city. The thought of going further from where he wanted to be only exacerbated the Joker's mood for the worse. He didn't want to hide from Black Mask—which was exactly what he was doing—but he needed to gather his bearings and figure out what to do with the masked figure. He couldn't move forward with his plan—the plan that involved Taylor—without first taking care of the man who had a target on his back. He was used to watching his back and always being conscious of the fact that at some point or another, anybody at anytime could point a gun there, but, being the most wanted man in the city, it was something he had grown accustomed to. He had always been that way for as far back as he could remember.

With Black Mask, however, things were entirely different. Black Mask wasn't just any old criminal looking to knock the Joker down or turn him into the cops for some cash. No, this man's motives were entirely different. He wasn't looking for money or self-righteousness, he was looking for the same thing the Joker wanted, and that was _Gotham_. The Joker didn't want Gotham literally, of course—he had no intentions of installing his own system of government or mandating new rules simply for the purpose of introducing a little chaos, (he didn't operate that way)—he simply wanted the people of Gotham to know that _he_ was the one who really controlled things. He was the one with the power, not the corrupted bureaucrats or string-puppeteer city officials. That was where the Joker and Black Mask differed. _His _operation wasn't simply a display of power; he wasn't doing what he did for self-glorification or the need to seek revenge or display his dominance. He did what he did because he _liked_ it. Because he _liked_ chaos and fucking with people's minds and playing games. Black Mask, on the other hand, did what he did for revenge against the city and even a little fame. The Joker was stealing his limelight, at least according to what Alex had said, and Black Mask didn't like that, not at all.

And that was why the Joker would lay low for a few days, devise a plan that would quietly and effortless snuff out Black Mask so he could resume his plans of luring Batman out to play.

Wilks suddenly pointed to a gravel road ahead that lie just and off to the right, removing the Joker from his thoughts. "That's it right there."

The Joker turned onto the driveway, and, after a few curves and around a tall bend of trees, the house finally came into view. It was gray in color with a black shingled roof. Despite it being just one story, it looked as if it were two, the ceilings nearly fifteen feet high. The front of it was all lofty, narrow glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, and the house itself had a striking architectural design; very modern, sleek, and precisely-cut.

Black, wrought-iron steps led up to the spacious concrete deck nearly seven feet off the ground. The railings that lined the porch were also wrought-iron and the bars were ornately shaped to intertwine and curve in intricate patterns. On the roof, three skylights were buried in snow.

As the car came to a stop in front of the garage, Taylor eagerly unbuckled her seatbelt and rose to her knees, studying the new change in scenery with curiosity. She had never seen a house so magnificent and strange looking. She wasn't quite sure what to think.

Once the car was turned off, both men wordlessly got out, Wilks retrieving the Joker's things from the trunk while the Joker opened Taylor's door for her. She thought he was going to pick her up in his arms like he usually did, so she stretched them out to him expectantly. Instead, he just stood with his hand on top of the door, staring at her blankly.

She frowned up at him, disappointed, and wordlessly scooted out of her seat, dropping down into the snow as the Joker closed the door behind her.

The whole house was surrounded by trees, and the scent of pine hung heavily in the air as the three of them shuffled through the snow towards the long staircase that led up to the deck. Taylor watched, fascinated, as her puffs of breath floated around her in the frigid air as she climbed the steps, holding onto the railings for support. "Whoa," she murmured. She had never noticed before that she could see her own breath. Intrigued, she began to pant quickly and heavily on purpose, watching what look liked white smoke leave her mouth. Wilks stopped on the stairs in front of her and slowly turned around to face her, looking bemused. Taylor stopped her actions and immediately turned a dark shade of pink under his gaze, clearly embarrassed.

Her ears perked up when she heard the sound of a car pulling up next to the Joker's, and she turned around to inspect who it was. Upon spotting Anders, she made a small noise in the back of her throat and hurriedly moved up the stairs, pushing past Wilks and meeting the Joker who was already impatiently waiting by the front door.

"What took you so long?" Wilks called out.

"Got stuck in a patch of ice," he muttered as he mounted the stairs. Anders reached the deck in no time at all, his hand draped loosely over something that hung from his hip. It was then that Taylor noticed that there was a gun in a holster swinging from his side, making her nearly gasp aloud. She had seen cowboys and bad guys wear those on T.V. and shoot people with them. She sidled closer to the Joker as Wilks fished for the keys in his pocket and inserted one of them into the door. He opened it and then stepped aside to let the Joker enter first.

Taylor followed closely at his heels, her eyes immediately roaming upwards to stare in awe at the skyscraper-tall ceilings. The wooded ceilings were slanted outwards and came to meet in the middle to connect at the highest point, almost like a cathedral-type design. She had never seen something so grand and she openly gawked.

The room was spacious and open; a large fireplace was nestled against the wall to the left of them, and a massive, crimson ornamental rug adorned the sleek, mahogany floors. A black leather sofa was on one side of the fireplace while two matching armchairs sat across from it, a rounded coffee table resting in between the three items. Despite the many windows, the room was very dark, mostly because the sky was overcast, but also because the planks that lined the ceiling were black. A massive, floor-to-ceiling window took up the expanse of the wall opposite them, displaying the snowy world outside and a large lake, completely iced over.

Anders was the last one to enter the house and he closed the door behind him, kicking the snow off his boots. "It's a fucking freezer in here," he muttered, moving past the Joker and disappearing down a hallway to the left of them. He had apparently been here before, the Joker noted.

Wilks watched him leave a bit apprehensively. He knew the Joker didn't appreciate bad attitudes and complaining, and he wanted to look out for his friend, but at the same time, he didn't dare say anything lest Anders lash out at him. The last thing he wanted was a fight on his hands that resulted in the Joker having to intervene. _What a nightmare._ He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. "You want to look around, boss?" he asked instead, setting the Joker's box on the coffee table and then moving back over to him. "The rest of the house is this way." He gestured to the hallway Anders had just disappeared down.

The Joker's eyes flitted about the room thoughtfully, taking in every detail. Anders was right, the place really was freezing, but despite that, he liked it already. It had a very murky, cold sort of feel to it; the sleek, black furniture, the dark, towering ceilings, the glass windows. It was all perfect.

Remembering Wilks' question, the Joker made a "hmph" noise and led the way down the hall.

The corridor eventually opened up into a kitchen, which was almost just as large as the living room, the color scheme much the same. Beautiful, dark mahogany cabinets lined the walls and an island sat in the center of the kitchen.

"Everything's freshly stocked, boss," Wilks explained, opening cupboards and revealing an abundance of food in each. He opened the fridge lastly to show that it was indeed full.

Taylor immediately hurried over to the Joker, having been standing in the doorway. She tugged on his jacket to get his attention. "Mr. J, can I have some orange juice?"

The Joker looked up at Wilks, raising his brow.

The man responded by pulling out a fresh carton, no pulp, and setting it on the counter. He closed the fridge and started to pull a cup from one of the cabinets.

"Wait!" she suddenly cried. Everyone turned to look at her. "I can't use that I . . . I have to use my bottle."

Wilks decided not to point out that four year-olds didn't _need_ bottles, but he didn't, mostly because he knew the Joker was watching him.

"I don't think we have any of those." He fumbled with the cup in his hands.

Taylor licked her lips and looked around, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable knowing that all the men were staring at her.

"That's okay," she swallowed thickly. "I have one in my backpack." She let out a shaky breath and then grabbed the Joker's leg, cowering behind it.

The Joker ordered Anders to get her backpack with a jerk of his head. The man grudgingly got up from the dining room table on the other side of the room and disappeared back out into the hallway. When he promptly returned with Taylor's backpack, he set it on the floor next to her.

She immediately bent down on her knees and zipped it open, random odds and ends of things tumbling out. The Joker rolled his eyes at her and then strode towards Wilks, snatching the cup out of his hands and pouring himself some orange juice. He had finished the whole glass by the time Taylor had returned to Wilks, passing her bottle to him.

He cautiously grabbed it from her and unscrewed it carefully, as if he didn't know if he was doing it right. He filled the clear plastic bottle all the way up and then screwed the cap on, handing it back to her.

From across the room, Anders was watching her at the table with hooded eyes. He had to wonder what the Joker was doing with a little thing like her. He knew she wasn't related, he had learned that much from Wilks, but if she wasn't related . . . then why was the Joker so . . . so _attached_ to her? He didn't quite understand the girl's purpose. If anything, she seemed like she'd just get in the way of things.

She was, however, quite a pretty little thing. A little frail looking perhaps, especially in the face, with her gaunt cheeks and sallow complexion, but overall rather pleasant to look at, at least for a little kid. Anders wondered where the Joker had abducted her from—or perhaps she had found him? Either way, the situation was pretty damn strange all around. The Joker didn't seem like the type of guy to put up with the shit and tears that children tended to bring. What the hell could he possibly _want_ from her?

Back by the counter, the Joker casually glanced at the clock above the sink and then smacked his lips, carelessly throwing his cup into the sink.

"Is there anything else you need, boss?" Wilks inquired, always ready to get him whatever he requested. He knew he was being a kiss-ass, but it was better than acting ignorant and having a superior attitude, which was what Anders was doing. Wilks had known his friend for a long time and knew that Anders didn't like to be told what to do. The only reason he was working for the Joker was because the pay was good.

The Joker smacked his lips again and picked up Taylor's backpack from the floor. "No loud noises," he ordered from over his shoulder. He passed by the dining room table and left the kitchen, disappearing down another, wider hallway. Taylor hurriedly picked up the remains from her backpack before scurrying after him, sucking on her bottle contentedly all the while.

There were three bedrooms and two bathrooms in this wing of the house, and the Joker quickly located the master bedroom, dropping Taylor's bag by the door when he stepped inside. He strode into the room, flipping on the light and then removing his jacket, vest, and gloves, dropping them onto a chair. Taylor entered the room right behind him, her eyes giving it a quick inspection as she sucked on her bottle noisily. She closed the door behind her and dropped her things back inside her backpack before moving farther into the room.

A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room and a chestnut brown quilted comforter rested on top of it. The rest of the room was fairly empty. There was a small walk-in closet, the door that led to the bathroom, a dresser, and a leather chaise lounge with a pile of books on the floor stacked next to it.

The Joker kicked off his shoes lazily, revealing multi-colored socks. He knew he smelt terribly of copper, Anna's blood still on his clothes on even some on his skin, so he decided that he'd take a quick shower. He didn't have much to do now, anyway. He'd lay low for a few days until he could figure out what to do about Black Mask. All he knew so far was that he wanted the man _dead _so he could get back to playing with Batman. This "_Roman_" guy was really screwing things up for him. The Joker wanted Batman all to himself, but now that _he_ had presented himself—a man who was obviously a . . . _somewhat_ worthy adversary—the two of them were going to have to vie for Batman's attention, and the Joker didn't like that. _At all._

Black Mask seemed to realize that the Joker was the one who held the power in the city—which was why he wanted to take that from the clown. But it wasn't fair that the Joker should have to give up his fun for this . . . _other_ villain. Gotham was _his _city. He had worked hard to get to where he was today. He wasn't going to let some idiotic amateur with a plastic mask on his face take that away from him.

No, the Joker was going to have to show Roman just how _powerful _he really was. The Joker would take him down a notch, force the man to his knees and have him begging for mercy by the time he was done with him. Roman, or rather—_Black Mask_—wouldn't even know what hit him.

The Joker pulled his suspenders down from his shoulders as he walked towards the bathroom. "_Don't _leave the room," he growled to Taylor, glaring pointedly at her until she nodded her head in agreement. He slammed the bathroom door shut and the sound of running water instantly met Taylor's ears.

She sighed heavily as she stood by the door, finally setting her bottle down on the floor so she could dig through her backpack. She pulled out her toothbrush, her coloring books, her box of Crayola crayons, a pair of sneakers, socks, and her dark green dress, which now had a dark stain on the front from when she had spilled her grape soda.

Glancing over all of her things that were sprawled across the floor, she decided that she would color while Mr. J was taking a shower. She grabbed her Care Bears activity book and flipped through the pages, wanting to find one of those blank ones where she could draw her own picture. When she found one, she grinned to herself and flopped herself down onto the floor, lying on her tummy.

She already knew what she wanted to draw.

Kicking her feet up into the air, she reached for a purple crayon and got straight to work, her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth as she busily scribbled away. Next came the green crayon, and then the red one, and then the black one, and _then _the yellow one for hair.

_Mr. J has the same color hair I do!_ she realized absently as she colored, giggling to herself.

She finished the rest of her picture in no time at all. When she was done, she smiled knowingly to herself. _Boy _was she good. She hoped Mr. J would think so too. Just a few more finishing touches . . . .

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Taylor immediately stopped coloring and dropped her crayon, listening carefully.

After a moment, there was another one, louder this time.

She stood and slowly went over to the door. She didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she decided to open it. She was relieved to see that it was only Wilks (and not Anders) who stood in the doorway, the Joker's box in his hands. He looked down at her and then quickly scanned the room.

"Mr. J's taking a bath," she explained to him cordially.

"Uh . . . right." Wilks swallowed and slipped passed her in the doorway. "I'm just gonna put this here." He placed the Joker's cardboard box on the tall round table next to the bed.

Taylor's eyes followed him across the room and then watched as he vanished down the hallway. When he was out of sight, she closed the door quietly and resumed her position on the floor.

She had heard the shower shut off long ago, but Mr. J was obviously still doing something in the bathroom, so she busied herself with coloring more pictures. She did a few mazes, (they were _so_easy,) and flipped through her book until she found the specific bear she was looking for. The yellow Care Bear was her favorite. It was the Funshine bear and he had a smiling sun on his tummy. Taylor liked that because she liked the sun.

Unfortunately, it was always so dark and dreary in Gotham, like there was a perpetual cloud of darkness that hung over the city. It was as if the darkness strangled the city skyscrapers, refusing to let up on its powerful chokehold. Taylor imagined that the darkness had long, spidery black fingers that oozed ink whenever they touched something, forever staining it black.

That's why she liked the sun, because the sun was prettier. The sun had warm, friendly hands that sprinkled gold on everything it touched. And it was a beautiful gold too, not like that crayon gold, which was dull and dreary looking, but like the kind of gold that glittered in the sunshine or the gold of her mommy's jewelry.

Taylor found it sad that the perpetual war that waged between the sun and the darkness was predominately won by the darkness—at least in Gotham. It was _always_ dark in Gotham it seemed, the sun's powerful rays somehow never able to break through the toxic, black blanket that suffocated the sky.

Still lost in her own thoughts, Taylor was startled when the bathroom door suddenly burst open, making her jump in fright as the Joker stepped out.

He was dressed only in his purple slacks, his suspenders still attached at his hips and hanging loosely around his thighs. His belt was left unbuckled and his hair was still wet, limply hanging over his shoulders in damp waves. His makeup was freshly applied too, she noticed.

That, however, wasn't quite what held her attention.

She stared in awe at his bare chest. His skin was pale, and a light tuft of hair speckled his chest. What she noticed most, though, was that his sides and stomach were completely littered with horrible-looking lacerations and large, purple and yellow bruises. It was strange, seeing the stark contrast of his bare chest clash with that of his painted face.

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom for a moment, simply staring at her as she did the same to him. Eventually he moved across the room, his bare feet padding across the carpet, and sat himself down on the edge of the bed. Taylor watched with morbid fascination as he pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. He then absentmindedly proceeded to clean the knife, running his fingernails over the blade to remove the dried blood there and then occasionally swiping the flat of the blade against his thigh to wipe it off.

After a few moments, Taylor slowly made her way over to him, her picture in hand. "Do you want to see what I colored?" she asked quietly, standing in front of him. When he didn't answer or even look up at her she continued on. "I drawed it for you . . . ." she trailed off, her eyes wandering over his chest and then to his lean abdomen.

The Joker finally lifted his head from his work to look up at her and she eagerly met his eyes. She pulled the picture out from behind her back with a small, careful smile, and the Joker took it in his hands. It was _him_—well, a crude stick figure version of him, but still him nonetheless. He was toweringly tall, almost took up the whole paper, in fact, and he was wearing his purple suit. He had black, filled-in circles for eyes and a messy, crude red grin as a smile. Standing next to him, (he almost hadn't noticed her because she was so small,) was Taylor, who was wearing a green, triangle-shaped dress.

"Do . . . do you like it?" she asked, holding her breath as she looked up into his eyes, trying to gauge his reaction.

He narrowed his eyes. "Mhm," he mumbled after a moment, staring at the picture for just a second longer before handing it back to her.

She reluctantly took it from his hands. "You can keep it if you want," she offered dejectedly, her voice cracking at the end.

The Joker shrugged his shoulders and went back to his work, pulling something metal out of the pocket of his pants and using it to sharpen his knife.

Taylor frowned and eventually ambled away, feeling slightly disheartened. Next time, she promised to herself, she would try harder to color inside the lines, maybe then he'd like her picture better.

Sighing, she decided she would check out the rest of the room. She curiously inspected everything in sight, but was disappointed when nothing of interest caught her eye. After a while she found herself near the window. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she giggled and disappeared behind the floor-length blackout drapes. She squinted her eyes at the sudden change in light and gripped the edge of the windowsill, watching as little white flakes of snow drifted lazily to the ground. Everything was still and quiet outside, the trees hardly stirring even an inch. She looked upwards to find something hanging from the edge of the roof. Her eyes widened and she smiled.

"Look Mr. J!" Her head poked out from behind the drapes. "Bicycles!" she said in awe. "D'ya see 'em Mr. J? They're so pretty." She whispered the last part, staring at the frozen water dangling from the roof with mesmerized eyes.

The Joker considered telling her that she was looking at _icicles_, but he didn't have the energy to care. He turned halfway to glance behind him, but she had already disappeared behind the curtains again. He resumed his work.

"Mr. J, how do trees get so tall?"

He rolled his eyes while Taylor fired off a few more random questions as she stared out the window. _How do you tell if a worm is a girl or a boy? How do the fishies breathe if they can't come up out of the water when it's frozen? Why couldn't the snow be a pretty color like . . . yellow? _

He ignored all her questions, the _shink_ noise of his blade filling the silence of his answers as he sharpened his knife.

Taylor, clearly disappointed that he had not shown interest in any of her topics, eventually wandered back over to the other side of the room. She saw his box of things on the small, round table and went over to it, pulling herself up into one of the armchairs. She cautiously glanced at the Joker to make sure he wasn't looking before she peeked inside the box.

"_Ooh_," she murmured to herself, looking at all the different things he had in there with interest. "Can we play with your cards?" she asked as she stared at them, pulling out a stack.

She flipped through the cards and noticed that they all had that silly little dancing man on them. She forgot what he was called. She plucked the top card from the stack and dropped the others into the box before sliding off the chair and running over to him.

"What's this one called?" She held it up for him to see and he lifted only his eyes so he was staring at her from beneath his brows.

"The _Joker_," he whispered, his voice suddenly dark and his eyes acidic. He remembered back to a few days ago when they had been back at her "home," and she had tried to pronounce the name on the card but failed. Now she was _asking_ him what it was called instead of trying to figure it out for herself.

"The Joker," she repeated in a whisper, staring at the playing card almost as if in reverence. A strange thrill went through him at hearing her say his_ real_ _name_, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come. "That—that's your name?"

The Joker nodded his head wordlessly, watching her the whole time.

Taylor furrowed her brow. "Why is he dancing?"

"Because he wants to."

". . . Why does he want to?"

He quickly licked his lips and straightened, suddenly grinning at her, baring his yellowed teeth. "You ask too many questions," he said, pointing his knife at her playfully.

Taylor folded her arms behind her back and twisted back and forth shyly. "I just want you to talk to me," she murmured, afraid to meet his eyes.

Staring at her, he simply regarded her and didn't reply, resuming his work yet again.

After a few moments of silence, she suddenly perked up again. "Do you want to play house?" She stepped forward to place her hands on his knees, leaning on them for support as she looked up into his bowed face. "I can be the mommy and you can be the daddy, okay?" She smiled and scrunched her nose excitedly as if it were the best idea in the whole world. "I'm gonna pretend to cook dinner for you, and you can ah . . . well you can just do what you're doing," she explained as she straightened and made a gesture with her hands.

He didn't look up at her.

". . . _Sure_."

She squealed in excitement. He was actually going to _play_ with her, she could hardly believe it. "What do you want to eat? I'm a greatest cook!" She smiled and practically trembled with excitement, her hands clasped near her chest.

He couldn't help but smile to himself. "The greatest, huh?" She nodded her head fervently. "How about eggs and bacon, you think you can handle that, baby doll?" His tone was mocking, but she seemed to have missed that.

"Okay!" Taylor wiped her hands on her PJs and went over to the chair by the table, pretending to use it as a stove. "Wait!" she suddenly cried, making the Joker's eyes wander up from his work, his head still bowed. "I can't cook in my _pajamas_." She rolled her eyes as if that was absolutely absurd. "Mommies don't cook in their PJs."

The Joker's eyes followed her across the room as she went over to her backpack where all her items were strewn across the floor. She stared at her green dress with the soda stain on it and decided she didn't want to wear that again. Instead, she dug through her backpack until she found her white summer dress. It was frilly and she liked it. Besides, maybe if she wore her summer dress it would make the sun want to come out? Biting her lip, she hurriedly unzipped her PJs, taking them off with some difficulty because the zipper got stuck halfway down. She finally shrugged out of it and let it fall to the carpet.

The Joker watched somewhat amusedly as she attempted to pull her dress over her head, but when that didn't work she attempted to step into it, which didn't seem to work for her either. She huffed in exasperation and tried again.

"C'mere," he suddenly called to her, his voice quiet.

She looked up at him questioningly and then slowly padded over to him, clothed in just her underwear. When she was close enough, he gently took hold of her upper arm and pulled her closer so she was standing in between his thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Taking her dress from her hands, he was about to pull it over her head when he suddenly felt her warm, tiny hand on his skin. He let out a quiet and shallow gasp in slight surprise when she gently brushed the tips of her fingers against a large bruise he had on his ribs. Taylor's mouth parted in awe as she looked at it curiously.

He watched as she splayed her hand across it, covering it fully, and then took her other hand and touched her stomach, covering one of her own bruises.

"We're the same," she whispered quietly, a strange curiousness to her voice. Her eyes roamed up his stomach and chest before reaching his eyes.

He simply stared back at her with a dark gaze, tonguing at his scars from the inside. If she only knew how _wrong _she really was.

"No," he said forcefully, narrowing his eyes at her as she pulled her hand away. He straightened his shoulders and worked his mouth. "No we're no_t_."

Taylor let her hand fall to her side as she cautiously stared back into the Joker's eyes. She wanted to ask why they weren't same, they both had bruises, after all, but she never got the chance when a loud, thudding knock resounded on the door.

Before the Joker could even ask who it was, it burst open.

The Joker's brows furrowed together at the intrusion and he quickly rose from the bed.

Wilks stood in the doorway, panting and breathing somewhat heavily while a cell phone was clutched tightly in his hand. He suddenly noticed Taylor standing in front of a shirtless Joker, dressed in only her underwear. A disturbing thought flitted through his mind briefly, but he pushed it away, honestly not caring in the least what the hell had been going on between the two of them. There were bigger problems that were about to arise.

"Boss," he swallowed breathlessly, his brows knitted together in slight panic. "Jacob's gone."


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's Notes: **__Shout-out to one of my anonymous reviewers, '__**Anna**,'__ for leaving such lovely reviews. I have loved getting your reviews from the very beginning, so thank you so much for leaving them; they mean a lot to me and always make me smile. Also, to my new anonymous reviewer '__**Meg**__,' I wanted to say thanks to you as well. I don't know why, but I always get extra excited when I see that someone has left me an anonymous review. I love that people who don't have accounts (or are just too lazy to log-in ;), actually take the time to let me know what they think. Thank you for that. _

_I also wanted to make a shout-out to _**PiraBats3** _for leaving me such an amazing, jaw-dropping review._

_And, finally, this chapter is dedicated to my dear reader, _**Serimah**_. You are such a huge encouragement to me and your words have truly inspired me more than you will ever know. I'll be honest, your last review almost made me cry and it was the most humbling experience I've ever had while writing a story. It was so incredibly beautiful, so thank you for taking the time to leave it. Anyway, I do hope this chapter brightens your day, Serimah. _

_As always, thank you so, _so_ much to everyone else for all the favorites, alerts, and reviews._

_

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**Chapter Fifteen**

The Joker cocked his head to the side, his tongue darting out across his lips. "What do you mean _gone_? He escape?"

Wilks shook his head. "We don't know boss, he just . . . disappeared."

The Joker sighed through his nose, working his mouth angrily while his eyes drifted to the floor. This was_ not_ supposed to happen. His eyes darted to the carpet as he began to rapidly rethink over how this little incident would change his plans. If it wasn't for the blizzard that was scheduled to arrive, the Joker would have already been in the car and looking for Jacob himself. Alex had been right when he'd said that he'd have to stay here for a while. It had been difficult enough getting here through the snow, so he knew it'd be a fool's errand to try and go out now.

He gritted his teeth together, feeling utterly irate, and swore to himself that he would personally castrate all of the men whom he had ordered to watch Jacob. How could they let him just . . . sneak away?

"Incompetent idiots—the lot of them," he growled to the floor, his voice barely audible as his fists clenched and unclenched.

When he looked up at Wilks and finally spoke, his voice was deceptively playful and strangely wilted, as if it would crack at any moment. "I guess that means you better go and_ find_him then, hm?" Wilks nodded his head fervently, already turning to leave. The Joker suddenly called after him. "Look through the surrounding woods," he ordered, his voice louder and stronger this time, "he can't have gotten far. Tell them to find him," he growled, ". . . _or else_."

The man nodded his head yet again, eager to make the call to the other guys. Had it been any other man uttering those words of "or else," they simply would have been false threats, but, as they were coming from the Joker, Wilks knew those words to ring all but too true. There would be hell to pay if they didn't find Jacob—and find him fast.

The Joker was staring at the closed door long after Wilks had left, tonguing at the corner of his mouth and frowning deeply.

Taylor simply stared up at his taut stomach, noticing the dark trail of hair leading from his navel and disappearing into his pants, which hung low on his hips, his belt buckle still undone. Cautiously, she bit her lip and reached up a hand to tug on one his suspender straps, which were still dangling around his thighs.

He immediately looked down at her, having forgotten she was even there. In response, she simply held her dress up to him. He licked his lips and sighed somewhat heavily, sitting back down on the bed. He muttered a few words to himself that Taylor couldn't understand as he grabbed hold of her upper arm and yanked her closer. She didn't speak as he pulled the garment over her head and then put her arms through the sleeves, letting Taylor pull her dress down the rest of the way.

When she was done smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles, she stared up at him meekly, not quite sure what to make of his mood. He had stopped muttering to himself and was now strangely silent and looked distant, as if he were lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. Hoping to brighten the atmosphere, she leaned in close to him as if she were going to whisper a secret.

"You wanna hear me sing my ABC's?" She narrowed her eyes at him and raised her brows in a comical way. If she couldn't impress him with her picture, then maybe she could impress him with how _smart_ she was.

He only stared at her blankly before picking up his knife again, watching it as he twirled the object between his fingers.

"I thought you were cooking."

Realization dawned on her face. "Oh! You're probably starving!" Hurriedly, she brushed her hair over her shoulder, suddenly wishing her mommy were here so she could put it up in a ponytail for her. Or, better yet, maybe her mommy could braid her hair so it fell down her back in one long, braided lock, like Rapunzel's did. She wondered about asking Mr. J to do her hair for her, but somehow she doubted he would comply. Still, another question pressed at her thoughts.

"Mr. J," she began questioningly, "why is your hair green?"

She watched as his tongue snaked out across his lips, something like a smile tugging at the lacerated corners of his mouth.

"Because I _like_ it that way."

". . . Oh."

Pause.

"I like it too," she decided.

Smacking her lips, an action she had learned from him, she stood once again in front of the chair/stove. She sang quietly to herself as she "cooked," mumbling incoherent words and occasionally screeching when she tried to sing particularly high notes.

From the bed, the Joker finally let his eyes wander upwards, staring at her from beneath his brows as he chewed on his bottom lip in a contemplative manner. His eyes were narrowed as he took in her long, tangled waves of hair and the scars on the back of her legs, something he hadn't noticed before. There was a particularly bad mark right above the back of her left knee, and it was so abnormally dark that he at first thought it was a birth mark. Upon staring at it more fixatedly, however, he realized it was a _burn_ mark.

Had her mother actually _burned _her? It looked like it had come from a _cigarette_ . . . .

Frowning, he contemplated this thought, all the while watching her as she sang to herself and cooked an imagery meal for him. After a few minutes, she turned around to look over her shoulder, finally noticing that he was staring at her. She turned a bright shade of pink and halted in her singing, instead pressing her lips together bashfully.

She drew her way towards him slowly, her arms outstretched and her palms pressed together.

"Here ya go, sweetie," she said a bit too cheerfully, trying her best to sound like a good little wife and offering him her brightest smile.

It was a moment before the Joker responded, suddenly grinning broadly at her and flipping his knife shut.

"Thanks baby," he drawled, cuffing her a bit roughly on the cheek. He grabbed a fistful of the imaginary eggs and bacon from her hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp.

She winced slightly when his palm met her cheek but otherwise watched him with wide eyes.

"Oh," she said in slight awe, "you eat fast."

The Joker snorted through his nose, smirking at her, before suddenly getting up from the bed. Taylor took a step backward and turned, watching as he made his way over to the table. He lazily seated himself in the wooden chair right next to it, pulling his box into his lap.

She watched as he dug through it until he found what he was looking for. After putting his box back on the table, he went about disabling one of his small handguns, laying the parts out on the table. A thin cleaning rod and small cloth in hand, he then went about cleaning the barrel of the gun, tonguing at the inside of his cheeks as he worked.

Taylor's eyes followed his every moment. He worked fast, she noted, and his hands seemed to know exactly where to go. Every movement was precise and quick, as if he had performed the action countless times before and was now routine for him.

As she watched him, she let her eyes wander up and down his lanky frame, suddenly noticing something peculiar. Biting back a smile, she crouched down onto the floor and crawled over to him on her hands and knees. The Joker didn't even seem notice. When she lifted the hem of his pants, however, he suddenly started.

Immediately, he jerked his leg away, purely out of reflex, and frowned down at her. He opened his mouth to speak but Taylor did first.

"I like your socks," she giggled, moving closer once again and tracing the argyle pattern with the tip of her finger. "They're so colorful . . . like a dico ball!" For once, she forgot about her bashfulness and simply smiled up at him, her green eyes bright with amusement.

_It's a_ disco_ ball, kid, d-i-s-c-o ball._

When he failed to answer or reply aloud, Taylor's grin slowly faded. She sighed as she stood up, brushing off her dress. She then proceeded to stare at him with narrowed eyes, (another action she had garnered from him,) and required inquisitively, "Are you tired, Mr. J?" She cocked her head at him, noticing that his gaze seemed heavy and he was blinking more than he usually did, as if constantly trying to keep himself awake. "I thought we were going to play house together?"

The Joker didn't answer and instead stood up from his chair, carelessly sliding the rest of the disassembled gun onto the table.

Seeing that he was going to walk away from her again, Taylor quickly blocked his path and tilted her head so she could stare up at him. A bit nervously, she clasped her hands behind her back. "Can you please just—just talk to me, Mr. J?" She furrowed her brows together anxiously. All she wanted was for him to take interest in her. She just wanted—_needed _him to like her, to want to be with her. She was getting tired of trying to impress him and wanted nothing more than for him to just speak with her. She wanted him to listen to her and understand her, to answer her questions and to play house with her.

The Joker could see all this in her eyes, could see that she was pleading with him to give her the attention she so desperately needed. She had been neglected for probably all her life, he realized, and he was probably the first person to ever show any sort of interest in her. Now, however, she just wanted a little more. Giving her food and shelter apparently wasn't enough anymore; she needed a little bit of attention, too.

After a few seconds of silent contemplation, he reluctantly and slowly seated himself back down in the armchair.

Taylor looked up at him, unsure of what to do next. In response, he simply raised his brows and patted his lap, inviting her. He looked absolutely_ bored_, as if he had a million other things he wanted to do at that moment rather than entertain her, but Taylor could care less. She was so filled with excitement that she could hardly contain her growing smile. She quickly pulled herself up into his lap and fixated herself so she was sitting on his thigh and facing him.

The Joker promised himself he'd make this fast.

He cupped one hand around her small waist and licked his lips. "What do you ah, what do you want to tal_k_ about?" His jaw was tight when he spoke, making it painfully obvious how he'd rather be doing anything other than what he was doing now.

Taylor met his gaze and bashfully bit her bottom lip. "I don't know," she began, suddenly finding herself nervous now that the Joker had given her his full attention. "I just want to talk." She shrugged her shoulders and let out a shaky sigh, meeting his eyes as he stared blankly at her. She racked her brain for something that the two of them could discuss, something that would interest him.

"What's your favorite Care Bear?" she blurted.

The Joker's face immediately deadpanned, and he stilled his fidgety movements, staring at her as if she had just grown a second nose.

He was _not _going to talk to her about fucking _Care Bears_.

When he was about to push her off his lap so he could stand, Taylor tried to retract her former question by asking a better one.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked quickly, instantly noting how he halted his actions.

Slowly, he ran his tongue over his painted lips and then furrowed his brows at her, raising his head only slightly so he had to look down at her from over his nose.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to know," she trailed off uncertainly. "Mommy has lots of boyfriends." She swallowed. "I was never allowed to see them. She said I—I had stay in my room and play until they left. I don't know why though. I—I like meeting new friends." She smiled a little uncertainly after her small speech.

The Joker, however, gritted his teeth upon hearing Taylor mention her mother so . . . so_ innocently_. She obviously didn't understand that her mother was a _prostitute_. He couldn't believe that Anna had brought her clients to that old abandoned apartment Taylor called home.

The little girl in his lap continued upon seeing his thoughtful expression. "So . . . do you have a girlfriend?"

The Joker swallowed and looked down at her, his face blank.

"No."

Something like relief seemed to wash over Taylor, and he couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Why?" he questioned coyly, unable to resist. "Are you . . . _jealous_?" he asked with a smirk, looking down knowingly at her.

Taylor blushed furiously and ducked her head. She would _never _admit to that aloud. She was secretly glad that Mr. J didn't have a girlfriend because she liked the idea of having him all to herself. Mr. J was _hers_. But of course she could never say any of that to him, not to his face, at least.

She tried to in vain to change the subject. "What's your favorite color?"

The Joker shook his head amusedly and tugged her closer to him, resting ankle on top of his knee so that Taylor was caged in his lap. "No no no," he grinned, not wanting to let the topic slide. He was suddenly enjoying this little conversation of theirs. "Do you have a ah, a _boyfriend_?"

Her blush from the Joker's previous remark began to fade and she was suddenly frowning making the Joker do the same, his grin sliding off his face when he saw how absolutely heartbroken she looked. She dropped her head into her chest.

"No," she replied so softly he could barely hear her. "I'm not pretty enough."

The Joker rolled his eyes, almost uttering the words "bullshit" but knowing that she wouldn't understand such _colorful _vocabulary.

Other than that, he didn't really know that to say. He shifted in his seat and frowned, licking his lips. "Why do you think that?" He found himself a bit surprised at how much he genuinely wanted to know her answer.

Taylor's small chest heaved along with her tired sigh. "It's what mommy says."

As her words sunk in, the Joker could feel himself turn angry, suddenly wishing that he had done _so_ many more things to Anna. He could have ripped open her stomach, let her guts spill out over the floor before drowning her in scalding hot water. He could have gouged out her eyeballs, carved the bones from her body . . . there were so many _other_ things he could have done to make her feel pain. She had gotten off _easy_. If he could resurrect her and bring her back to life, he would have done so multiple times, just so he could kill her and make each time more painful and excruciating than the last.

He was surprised again at how much Taylor's emotional pain seemed to bother him. Maybe it was because he had suffered through a similar experience as a child—but hell if he knew. It's not like he could remember that far back, his memories so twisted and warped beyond reminiscing repair.

Taylor shifted in his lap and blinked back tears, gently laying her head on his bare chest. She let out a shaky yawn before draping an arm over his stomach and closing her eyes.

All previous thoughts immediately left his mind, and the Joker suddenly felt very blank and empty and utterly . . . strange. He sat stiffly in the chair, feeling her warm, even exhales of breath against his bare skin. The heat was almost semi-pleasant to him.

Almost.

It was a while that he sat there, his body rigid and tense. He wondered if he should get up and do something else—anything to escape her—but he . . . he didn't _want_ to.

_Are you really so surprised?_ his inner thoughts taunted him. _She's as cute as hell and you like her, you _know _you do._

The war inside his mind began to wage full force at this sudden realization. His thoughts screamed at him, told him that he was falling for her innocent charm, told him that he was actually starting to _care_ for her. His thoughts even went so far as to suggest that he was beginning to _sympathize _with her. He, of all people. He was some fucked up, crazy, mass murdering _psychopath_ . . . and he was _sympathizing _with a small child?

What a bad joke. The idea sounded even more ridiculous then he thought.

Still, his thoughts battled with his conscience, kept telling him that he was only keeping her around because he liked her company, as ridiculous and annoying as she sometimes was.

He rebutted by telling himself that she was only part of the plan.

And truth was, she really _was_ a part of the plan, a very vital part, in fact, but maybe that wasn't the only reason why he was keeping her around anymore?

But then again, why should he even care? At least for this one moment, he told himself, it shouldn't even have to matter. No one else was around, no one was watching him. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. And it's not that he didn't do what he wanted when people _were_ watching, (because he most certainly did,) but this . . . this situation was different.

"Mr. J?" Taylor's sleepy voice distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked down at her, quirking his brow at her even though she wasn't looking up at him and her eyes were still closed.

She nestled deeper into his chest, her breath tickling his bare skin. "I'm really glad that—that we're friends." She paused for a moment, fighting back a tired yawn. "I want to be best friends with you forever."

The Joker let out a long sigh at hearing this, rolling his eyes. "That's real nice, baby doll."

After a moment, she shifted in his lap and looked up into his eyes while he questioningly looked back down in hers.

"Well . . . ?" she prodded.

"Well _what_?"

"Aren't you going to give me a friendship bracelet? That's what they do on T.V."

He stared at her.

"You want me . . . to give you . . . a friendship bracelet." It was more of a statement than a question, but Taylor nodded her head anyway.

He rolled his eyes again. "I'm afraid I left all my extra ah, extra _friendship bracelets_ in my _purse_," he replied sarcastically.

What _the hell_ did she mistake him for? Did he _really_ look like the type of guy to pass out fucking _friendship bracelets_?

Taylor, as always, missed his blatant sarcasm. "That's okay," she chirped, "I saw one in your box."

The Joker furrowed his brow at hearing this, and she moved on his lap so she could pull the box towards her that sat on the table. When it was close enough, she peered over the edge and reached in. After a second, she pulled out a thin, silver chain necklace, fingering it delicately.

It was simply a small chain with a tiny, barely-there silver heart dangling from the end. The Joker stared at it in bewilderment, wordlessly taking the object out of her hands and letting the chain sift through his fingers like sand.

"See, I told you," Taylor said quietly. She bit her bottom lip and then looked up at him, his gaze directed at the necklace. "Can you put it on me?"

She held out her left wrist for him as the Joker simply stared at the object. He had absolutely no clue where the necklace had come from, but he obviously had no use for it for himself, so he figured it wouldn't hurt to give it to her.

Smirking slightly at her, he pushed her wrist away and instead brought the chain upwards and clasped it around her neck.

"Oh."

She fingered the chain that now hung from her neck, trying to look down at it. After a second, she swallowed, looking nervous.

He was curious as to what seemed to be bothering her when she suddenly crawled out of his lap, making her way towards where her backpack lay. When she returned, her teddy bear was in hand. She moved into his lap again and cradled her bear gently in her arms before looking up into the Joker's eyes. Slowly, she pushed her bear into his chest, waiting to see his reaction.

"I want you to have him, Mr. J."

It was a silly notion, her giving him her most prized possession, but he couldn't help but realize how big of a moment it was for her. He knew he should've felt flattered . . . but he couldn't fake something like that.

"He really likes you," Taylor continued. She paused, still waiting for that moment where he would offer her his utmost thanks, that moment where his eyes would soften and he would hug her and hold her in his warm embrace.

But he didn't.

She swallowed a bit hesitantly, wanting him to speak, to just _say something_, but she realized that he wouldn't.

Slowly, she moved to place her bear inside his box of belongings, watching him while his own eyes watched hers, their gazes locked onto each other's. When he made no protest to what she had just done, she snuggled back into his chest, feeling a bit embarrassed that he hadn't responded the way she had expected him to. That was okay, she told herself. Teddy would be happier with Mr. J then at home, anyway. Mr. J would take good care of him, she was sure.

She was a bit surprised when a yawn escaped from her. She didn't know why she was so sleepy, but these last couple of days had been so physically and emotionally draining, all she really wanted to do now was sleep. It would be easy to do, especially because she knew Mr. J was so close. She knew he wouldn't leave her when she was snuggled in his lap, and, even if he did, she would wake up and be able to tell. She didn't want him to leave her alone in this strange house.

The Joker was feeling a bit exhausted as well. He hadn't gotten any real sleep since the night he had first found Taylor. Even then he had been tossing and turning, insomnia never far away. He sighed heavily after a while and let himself drift to sleep, not even caring that Taylor was doing the same, still curled up in his lap. He didn't have the energy to push her off.

Absently, he licked at his lips before letting his eyelids close, one arm resting on the arm of the chair and the other curled loosely around Taylor's waist.

Nearly an hour and a half later, it was Taylor who awoke first. She sleepily rubbed her eyes and pulled away from the warmth of the Joker's chest. With curiosity, she watched the steady rise and fall of it as he breathed. His face was drawn into a frown, and he looked troubled, perhaps even sad, Taylor thought, even despite the fact that a perpetual red grin was painted onto his face.

After a few moments of watching him, she carefully slipped out of his arms and headed towards the door. She stood on her tippy-toes so she could flip off the light switch, wanting Mr. J to sleep in peace. The room was instantly shrouded in a semi-dusk, the partially opened drapes emitting only a sliver of gray light onto the carpet. It was only mid-day, twelve o'clock, maybe, and the sky was already darkening considerably, the foreboding signs of the coming snow storm.

Taylor hummed quietly to herself as she wandered aimlessly around the room, retrieving her bottle of orange juice and plopping herself down onto the carpet, Indian style, in front of a large stack of books on the other side of the room. She sucked on her bottle noisily as she flipped through each of the book's pages, searching for pictures but finding nothing but words.

When she finished her bottle, she restacked all the books and then went to use the bathroom. After she had washed her hands, she tip-toed back over to the chair, deciding that she wanted to be with Mr. J again. She liked being around him, she realized, even if he did scare her sometimes. His clown suit and makeup was unnerving, but he hadn't hurt her yet, not like her mommy had, and she was beginning to put a lot of trust in him.

As she carefully pulled herself back into his lap, she gently reached out to touch his face as he slept, running her pointer finger down the length of one of his scars. It felt surprisingly soft and tender under the pad of her finger. Her nails gently scraped against the uneven ridges, a shiver curdling down her spine at the strange, forbidden sensation of touching his face. She knew he would never let her do that if he were awake.

She stopped her movements when he stirred, licking his lips before drifting off again. She sighed in relief and then laid her head back down on his chest, wanting to tug on both of his arms so he could wrap them around her again, but afraid that she might wake him if she did. She protectively curled her arms around his middle instead, eventually drifting off into a fitful half-sleep, her dreams making her murmur aloud.

She dreamed that she had done something to make the Joker mad, and now he was approaching her with knife in hand. She was running from him as fast as she could, but in her dreams she could never seem to run fast enough. She was using all her energy, huffing and puffing frantically, but she felt like she was running through molasses, moving slowly but wanting to go faster—_knowing _that she could go faster but unable to do so. It was like trying to run underwater in the shallow end of a pool, the water tugging and pulling at your legs, making it impossible to move with speed.

The Joker was always just one step behind her, never reaching her but always so terrifyingly close, his long, slender fingers occasionally brushing the tips of her hair. She begged him to stop chasing her, pleaded with him through her screams and her tears to forgive her for whatever it was she had done, but he wouldn't speak. Whenever she dared a glance behind her, she was met with his painted face, albeit a warped and twisted version of it. His colors of white, red, and black were all mixed together in a frenzied blur, making his face appear as if it were a giant melting glob, his jaw unhinged in a silent scream and his eyes simply black, fathomless holes.

Taylor suddenly cried out and bolted upright, gasping breathlessly. Her chest heaved while a cold sweat had broken out across her forehead. She whimpered pathetically when she realized it had just been a bad dream. She turned in the Joker's lap to find him still sleeping soundly.

She pressed her lips together tightly and then swallowed, suddenly finding that her throat felt dry and stiff. Staring up at him a bit warily now, she came to the conclusion that she didn't feel like sleeping anymore.

Noiselessly, she slipped off his lap once more and padded over to the stack of books on the floor, picking up her bottle. She knew that the Joker had told her not to leave the room, but she was r_eally_ thirsty and would only be gone for a minute.

Before leaving, she slipped on a pair of white socks and then her sneakers, tucking the laces into her shoes because she hadn't learned how to tie them yet. She then slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

In the darkened hallway, she made her way into the kitchen, finding it empty and quiet, save for the low, droning hum of the refrigerator. There was a single, low-hanging light on over the stove, but other than that the room was fairly dark, the curtains drawn over the windows and blocking out the cold, silvery gray light outside.

Curiously, she looked around as she made her way towards the fridge. When she was certain that no one was in the room, she pulled the door open with some sustained effort and let her eyes roam over the inside, searching for the orange juice carton. She wondered if Care Bears liked orange juice too, which then made her think of Teddy and how hungry he must be. She hadn't fed him in a long time. Even though Teddy was really good about not complaining when he didn't get to eat, she still hoped Mr. J would feed him often. Teddy seemed to understand that what Taylor's mother usually brought home was never enough for the two of them, so he had always let her eat it instead. Taylor occasionally gave him her leftovers though, which had always seemed to make her mother mad, but she had to do it anyway. She couldn't let Teddy starve. She didn't know why her mother didn't understand that.

Thinking of her mom made Taylor wonder where she was and what she was doing.

She missed her mommy a lot. Maybe when Mr. J took her home she could introduce the two of them to each other?

_Mommy would really like Mr. J,_ Taylor thought, _mommy likes boys_.

As Taylor pulled the carton from the fridge, she suddenly thought about how exciting it would be if her mommy and Mr. J became friends. She even started to wonder if perhaps maybe her mother would act nicer to her if Mr. J was around.

She thought about different scenarios where her mother and Mr. J met with each other as she set her bottle down on the floor and unscrewed both the cap for it and the orange juice carton. She then bit her lip, carefully titling the carton sideways and—

Suddenly, the refrigerator door closed with a loud _smack_ from behind her, and she jumped in surprise, nearly spilling the juice, and letting out a startled gasp.

Anders stood tall and looming in front of her, his long, straight blonde hair brushing the tops of his shoulders.

"Well hello there," he said lowly, staring at her with dark eyes. His voice was quiet, but also clear and firm. His gaze strayed to the carton of juice clutched tightly between both of her hands, and then moved to meet hers. "Let me help you with that." He moved closer to her and dropped down to his haunches, brushing up against her as he expertly poured orange juice into her bottle.

Taylor swallowed thickly and didn't dare look at him. She could feel his eyes on her though the whole time, even as he was screwing the cap back on her bottle. She didn't mind it when Mr. J would stare at her, (she _loved _when Mr. J paid attention to her,) but, for whatever reason, Anders' gaze made her feel nervous and shaky.

After a moment, she came to the realization that _this _was the man that Mr. J had punched earlier. She understood now that Mr. J would only have done such a thing if this man had done something bad. Something really, _really _bad . . . .

Anders handed the bottle full of orange juice back to her, and she took it wordlessly, still not meeting his gaze. Clutching the object protectively to her chest, Taylor began to slowly back away, watching his every movement with wide eyes.

He could have laughed at her behavior. "Where you going?" he called after her, smiling to himself when she stopped in her tracks.

She pressed her lips together and fidgeted with her bottle a bit nervously, standing in the darkened hallway while he now stood to his full height in the kitchen.

"Mr.—Mr. J said I'm not—not allowed to leave the room."

Anders sucked in his cheeks, thoughtful. "He waiting for you?"

Taylor shook her head. "He's asleep . . . ." She swallowed hard as he stared at her.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all . . . .

Quickly, she turned her back to him, intending on making a hasty retreat back to the bedroom as fast as she could.

However, before she could even take two steps, she cried out when she suddenly felt a hand snake around her upper arm, pulling her back.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Anders immediately placed a hand over Taylor's mouth, stifling her cry for help. "Sh sh sh," he whispered, kneeling down in front of her. "I'm not gonna hurt you." His grip on her arm loosened, but he didn't let go.

Despite his words of comfort, Taylor was absolutely terrified. As he removed his hand from her mouth, she exhaled breathily, already frantic, and started to twist in his grasp. "I have to go back," she whined. "Mr. J will get angry!" She continued to struggle with all her might, her bottle dropping to the floor as she used both hands to try and pry his hand off her arm.

Anders, however, maintained his grip and moved closer, speaking to her in a hushed tone. "Why will he get angry?"

Taylor stilled her fighting movements as he stared deep into her eyes. She fearfully returned his gaze, shaking like a leaf. "He—he told me not to leave. I have to go back," she pleaded.

Anders considered her words, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you . . . stay out here?" he offered lightly. "Come on, what're you gonna do in there anyway?"

Taylor was about to reply that she was going to go back to sleep, but then she remembered her dream, which was still uncomfortably fresh and vivid in her mind. She wanted to be with Mr. J, she really did, but she couldn't stand to look at him right now, not after what she had just dreamt.

Nervously, she swallowed. "Nothing, I guess . . . ."

The man in front of her nodded his head in understanding, gently tugging on her arm in an effort to coax her towards him. She didn't budge. He paused then, searching for how he wanted to phrase his next question. He had to word this little speech he had prepared _just _right if his plan was going to work.

"Does he . . . scare you?" he asked slowly, his eyes burning into hers.

Frowning, Taylor furrowed her brows, almost cautiously. "Sometimes," she murmured reluctantly, not wanting to admit it aloud. Now that she really thought about it, there had been a lot of times where Mr. J had scared her. He had been especially frightening when he had come to her home and they had met for the first time. She remembered when he had chased her through the house and pinned her to the floor, a knife clutched in his hand and poised next to her head. The incident all seemed so distant now, as if it had occurred months ago rather than just days. Mr. J had been only a stranger to her then—an odd man garbed in a strange purple suit and his face painted in a gruesome parody of clown makeup. He was a man who went by the name of 'Joker' and yet he never told any jokes and wasn't very funny. He was nothing more than a mystery to her and had come into her life so suddenly.

Her thoughts were brought back to the day when he had first shown up. It had been nighttime, and she remembered how the crisp, icy winter air had drifted in from the harbor across the street and made the hairs on her arm stand on end. She had been in her bedroom, the straps from her backpack hung over both shoulders as she stood in front of the opened window, waiting for her mother to return. Occasionally she would poke her head out of it and look down the street for any signs of an approaching figure. Sometimes, she would call out softly, too.

"_Mommy_?" she would try, waiting with perked ears for the sound of her mother's voice or her soft footfalls in the snow. When the winter air became too unbearable, however, her cheeks flushed red from the cold and her hair and lashes wet with snowflakes, she would reluctantly duck out of the windowsill and resign herself to sitting on the floor. She chewed on her lip anxiously and tilted her head back while she stared up at the midnight blue sky. With nothing else to do, she watched as the falling flakes of snow danced and sashayed in the air whenever they became illuminated beneath the old, yellowed streetlamps.

She had been fretfully twisting her hands in her lap and listening to the sounds of her starving, gurgling belly when she had first heard the footsteps.

Her heart gave an excited leap in her chest at the noise and she hurriedly scampered to her feet. She heard someone pause from outside the doorway and she rushed to it, already calling.

"_Mommy_?"

She quickly threw open the door, hopefulness etched across her face. But the person in front of her had not been her mother. It had been _him_.

She had never seen anyone like him before, not in person, and not even on T.V., (and she did watch a lot of T.V., only because there was nothing else for her to do when her mother was gone all day.) He had been so horribly fascinating; his crazy, crimson red smile and black-rimmed eyes making her heart tremble in her chest. She had never really interacted with anyone other than her own mother before, (and Teddy, of course, because she talked to him all the time,) but talking to_ him_ for the first time had been different. He was a complete stranger, and a _male _one, at that. She had never spoken to a real _boy _before. She was terrified and intrigued all at once upon seeing him for that first time.

Now, however, after only a short couple of days, he was her guardian, her protector . . . her_ friend_. She trusted him.

Or at least she thought she did.

Thinking back on their first encounter, she began to wonder why he had ever come to her house in the first place. What had he wanted? Did he even _know _her mother or was he simply just some random stranger who had invaded her home? Why did he want her to come along with him to his friend's house, and why hadn't they even met his friend yet? This _was _what this whole trip was supposed to be about.

In the silence of the seconds that passed, Anders could see all the doubts that were flitting through her mind, reading her like an open book. He decided to address them accordingly as he shook his head back in forth in something akin to a display of caution.

"Taylor," he began, looking at her seriously. His voice brought her out of her thoughts, and it was the first time he had user her name, making her snap to attention. "Listen to me." He grabbed both of her small shoulders, making sure he had her full concentration. "He's not a good man."

She cocked her head at him curiously. "Mr. J? What do you mean?"

Anders had to inwardly laugh at her blatant naivety. He bit back a smile as he leaned in closer to her, so close that she could practically taste the smell of his overpowering cologne. She scrunched her nose as he whispered to her.

"He's dangerous, Taylor. He . . . he _kills_ people for a living. Murders them. It's his _job_." He paused, letting his words sink in. "And eventually . . . he'll kill _you_."

As he drew back to assess her expression, he watched with satisfaction as her lips slowly parted, her breath already beginning to quicken. She couldn't believe what she had just heard, could hardly even comprehend it. Mr. J wanted to kill her? How could . . . how could that even be _possible_? He was her friend, he had protected her.

But could she really trust him, even despite all the things he had done for her? Everything about him was so off-kilter, so abnormal and so strange. His appearance screamed danger and yet, Taylor couldn't help but attach herself to him. It was like he was a magnet that she couldn't peel herself away from. He scared her to death and most of the time hardly even paid any attention to her, but she still clung to him desperately. He was the first and only person to ever show any sort of kindness to her. How could he be _bad_? He couldn't kill people, least of all her, it just didn't make sense.

Taylor shook her head back and forth vehemently. "No, no he won't," she said, feigning bravery. "I don't believe you."

Despite her statement, he could tell that she didn't quite believe her own words. He smiled to himself. "Suit yourself." He shrugged his shoulders, letting go of her arm and standing to his full height. "I tried to warn you," he murmured, glancing at her furtively from the corner of his eye, trying to look nonchalant. "Don't come crying to me when he slices your neck open with his _knife_."

Anders knew all the right words to put emphasis on, all the right facial expressions and physical movements to make . . . and all the right ways to twist the truth and make Taylor's trust in the Joker shatter like glass.

And it was _working_.

Taylor's heart began to pound faster within her chest, and she suddenly remembered all the times where she had seen a knife in the Joker's hands. There had been _so_ many times where she had seen him with a knife. She had even seen his guns—he had been disassembling one only minutes before he had fallen asleep. How could a man who had been so kind to her be so dangerous at the same time?

She wanted to tell Anders that Mr. J could never hurt her with one of his knives—never _would_ hurt her with one of his knives—but, after today, she wasn't quite so sure anymore. She had seen him so brutally pin Anders to the car after slamming his fist into the man's nose—he very well could have replaced that same fist with his _knife_.

Despite herself, she could already feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She felt scared, confused, lost, and slightly embarrassed. She hardly even knew the man who was staring down at her with darkened eyes and yet she was already crying in front of him. She sniffled pathetically, not knowing what to do. Hearing Anders say that Mr. J wanted to kill her was frightening, to be sure, and she didn't want to believe him, tried not to with all her might . . . but it was awfully hard when all the evidence said otherwise. All of his knives and guns and scary makeup—it all pointed to the fact that he was not as kind as she had originally thought. Could she really trust him?

All of Taylor's questions, however, were temporarily forgotten when she noticed Anders' expression change, his eyes suddenly growing wide. Taylor didn't even have a chance to turn around before a hand was wrapped around her mouth and she was pulled backwards into someone's chest.

"What the _fuck_?" Anders hissed, quickly getting to his feet and glaring angrily.

"Stop wasting time, you idiot." Wilks struggled to maintain a thrashing Taylor in his grasp. With a cast over one arm, the task wasn't easy. She kicked her legs defiantly and Wilks attempted to pin her arms behind her back. "You got duct tape?"

Anders grumbled as he pulled a roll out of his back pocket. "This is not how this was supposed to happen," he growled.

"Which is why we're going to get this over with quickly," Wilks replied. He grabbed the strip of tape from Anders and quickly secured it over Taylor's mouth. Her eyes widened in fear, tears already threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Your little chat cost us five minutes."

"I was hoping we could get her to come _willingly_."

"Since when do you care?" Wilks scoffed. "You're the one who got us roped into this in the first place. I never wanted to do this. I never wanted to switch sides."

"Just get her in the fucking car, damn it," Anders ordered, his face growing red. "We don't have time for your shit."

Since Taylor was still trying to put up a fight, Wilks reluctantly hauled her up from the floor and threw her over his shoulder. Or, at least, he tried to. When he reached for her arms, Taylor caught both men off guard by suddenly dodging underneath Wilks' arms and racing back towards the bedroom. She pulled off the duct tape that covered her mouth as she ran and let out a cry for help.

Before she could get too far, however, Anders reached out as she was running past and grabbed a fistful of her hair, making her scream out. He quickly covered her mouth, his nails digging into the side of her jaw and drawing blood. She screamed wildly into his palm and he secured his other arm around her waist, pulling her to him.

In retaliation, Taylor clamped her teeth down, hard, on his hand. Though the pain was rather small, the action was still unexpected and Anders cursed loudly, loosening his grip.

It was all she needed to once again slip out from under his arm and dash towards the bedroom. The door was closed, but if she could just reach it in enough time to pound her fists on it she knew she could wake Mr. J.

Her small legs though were no match for that of a grown man's. Anders caught up quickly and picked her up from behind, locking both arms around her midsection as he pulled her backwards. The suddenness of his grasp mixed with how fast he had pulled her backwards managed to knock the wind right out of her, and her eyes bulged as she wheezed breathlessly.

"Aw, shit," Wilks whispered to himself, rushing to assist Anders when he saw what had happened to Taylor. He pulled a zip tie out of his back pocket as he advanced towards them, ready to put it around Taylor's hands. She was still gasping for breath when another sound suddenly reached everyone's ears.

"What, what, _what_ is _this_?"

Both men turned to find the Joker standing in the middle of the kitchen, wondering how the hell he had gotten there when he was supposed to have been in the bedroom the whole time.

"Starting the party without me? Why, I'm offended." Almost as an afterthought, he crossed his arms and furrowed his brows, feigning a look of misfortune, as if someone had made a terrible mistake. "I didn't even get an invitation," he frowned. As a moment of shocked silence settled over the room, the Joker looked around, meeting both Anders and Wilks' deer in the headlights look. "What? Suddenly we have nothing to say? Speak up speak up speak u_p_."

When neither man dared to respond, the Joker proceeded to work the room, always a man with infinite things to say as he casually ambled a bit closer. "Oh, _now _I know what this is all about. This was a _surprise_ party, wasn't it? A surprise party for _me_." He grinned sardonically and glanced around the room. "Well then, where. Is. The. Cake? You can't have a party without _cake_."

For the first time since he had entered the room, he let his eyes fall on Taylor, who was still being held tightly in Anders' arms. She was shaking and breathing heavily out through her nose, practically hyperventilating as her breath slowly came back to her.

"And you even brought along our _littlest_guest. That was so . . . thoughtful of you, really." The Joker worked his mouth, sauntering even closer as both men trained their eyes on him, unable to look away. "Unfortu-nate-ly," he licked his lips, "this is a party for the _big_ boys," he raised his brows and exaggeratedly nodded his head in agreement before his voice dropped, "and _she_ was _not_invi-te_d_."

Wilks had slowly been moving his hand inside the pocket of his jeans the whole time the Joker had been talking, and now, as he was about to pull out his gun, the Joker had already been anticipating it. The Joker launched himself forward and sprang on him, surprising everyone in the room with such unexpected speed and the fierceness in which he grabbed Wilks by the back of the neck and slammed his head into the nearby wall. Wilks collapsed to the floor, dizzy, but not completely knocked out, while Anders was quick to react, dropping Taylor to the floor where she collapsed in a gasping heap.

What happened next transpired in only a matter of seconds.

The Joker couldn't help but grin as Anders advanced on him, the man pulling a knife out from his shoe. The Joker met him halfway and grabbed his wrist as he was bringing the knife down, twisting it painfully. Anders grunted and dropped it where it clattered to the floor. While Anders made a grab for his throat, the Joker clasped onto his other wrist, halting the intended action. They both fought for control, moving around the kitchen until the Joker was able to shove him hard and sending him crashing into the refrigerator. He instantly wrapped his hands around Anders' neck, trying to suffocate him, while Anders threw a hard punch into the Joker's ribs. He doubled over, letting out an "_oomph_" and giggled to himself as Anders showered him with a few more hard blows to his sides.

"_Ooh_, that felt_ good_. Do it again, will ya?" He cackled breathlessly and suddenly pulled a glass jar from the counter, smashing it over the Anders' head. Anders immediately collapsed to the floor in a painful, disoriented heap.

The Joker licked his lips and quickly looked towards Wilks who was just pulling himself up from the floor, clearly in pain. The Joker reached inside his pocket for his gun and Wilks recognized the motion, scrambling down the hallway towards the front door.

Growling, he realized that Wilks was getting away. He fired off a few rounds down the hallway anyway, not in the mood to chase him. When he was finally out of bullets he lowered the gun, simply listening as the sound of tires spinning out of the driveway met his ears.

Slowly, the Joker sauntered back over to where Anders lay on the floor, kneeling beside him and pushing the barrel under his chin. Anders could feel the warmth from the gun and grimaced, his consciousness returning.

"Wakey wakey." The Joker slapped his face a few times to rouse him. "We've got a lot to talk about, don't we, Brian?" He sounded excited, as if he were energized by the prospect.

Anders, however, only grimaced upon hearing his first name. "You gonna kill me?" he slurred, fighting away the black dots that threatened to encompass his vision.

The Joker's eyes were set as hard as stone, and he motioned with the gun towards Anders and then himself. "You tell me."

"You're not gonna like my answer," he replied, trying to sit up.

The Joker pushed him back down so that he was propped up only by his elbows.

"_Try me_."

"Look, I had nothing to do with it. Wilks was the one who said we should—"

Snorting through his nose, the Joker was quick to interrupt him. "You sure you want to _lie_ to me right now? 'Cause I think it'd be in your best interests to tell me what's _really_ going on."

"You'll kill me anyway."

"I've been considering it," he said, quickly losing patience. Licking his lips, he shifted closer. "Come on now, tell me the truth."

Anders' mouth formed into a thin, tight line, and he knew that however he portrayed the situation, the odds were not going to work out in his favor. He couldn't lie—the Joker would be able to spot that from a mile away—and his mind was empty of any plausible excuses he could use in order to cover the truth. And he couldn't just lie there and not say anything, either. He had to tell the truth, whether he wanted to or not.

_Damn him._

Sighing, he started to speak, his tone rough and aggressive even though he was playing in a losing game.

"He wanted her," he said, meeting the Joker's eyes. "He wanted her so he could get to you."

Anders said so little, and yet, right then, everything suddenly clicked into place for the Joker, and he narrowed his eyes angrily, needing no further explanation. He leaned in closer.

"You double-crossed me," he began incredulously, looking exaggeratedly shocked. "You double-crossed me and now you're working for _Black Mask_?"

"I didn't know—"

"You son of a bitch." The Joker laughed in disbelief and looked away, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He couldn't believe he had actually been _blindsided_. He should have seen it all along. Wilks and Anders had been working for the Joker for a long time, but it should have dawned on him that they'd jump ship eventually. And why wouldn't they? They obviously sensed (or were told) that there was going to be a shift of power in Gotham and, when that happened, they didn't want to be on the losing side.

Everything all made sense now. The way Wilks had acted apprehensive around him and was so unusually quiet, his guilt probably eating away at him. _He never had been cut out for the criminal life,_ the Joker then there had been the way Anders had eyed Taylor back in the parking lot of the motel. He hadn't been ogling her as the Joker had originally thought—he had been _recognizing_ her.

Without warning, he suddenly reached inside the pocket of Anders' jeans.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, though he was in no position to do so.

"Where's your wallet?"

"What?"

The Joker mumbled under his breath and leaned across him, checking inside his other pocket. _Aha_. He pulled out the wallet and opened it quickly, ignoring Anders' confused stare as he rifled through it, eventually finding what he had been searching for.

It was a picture of Taylor being carried in the Joker's arms and it had been taken the same night the two of them had arrived at the motel.

_The cab driver_, the Joker realized, thinking back, _that's why the cab driver had stalled in the parking lot_. _He was taking pictures._

The cab driver.

Oh, _shit_.

If the cab driver was working for Black Mask . . . then did that mean that Jacob was, too? That was the car that Jacob had arrived in that night, after all.

The Joker pondered the thought with renewed energy, his body going rigid as he considered the idea. Could he have really been that _blind_?

But then again, Jacob had acted like he had never even seen the Joker before, like he didn't know who he was. His story was convincing—he had been coming back from a trip to Australia when he got caught in the snowstorm and the plane had to make an emergency landing in Gotham—but had the story even been _true_?

To think that he had been so wrong about everything, to think that he had been played by everyone and had absolutely no fucking clue was _infuriating_. He had never felt so betrayed and so utterly _stupid_. Things like this didn't happen to him. He didn't make rookie mistakes like this, he never had.

That was until he had met_ her_.

Taylor. She was _ruining _him. She was ruining his game, blinding him from seeing the obvious mistakes he should have been avoiding. Now Black Mask had the upper hand. He was holding all the cards, and the Joker had been unknowingly playing right into his hands.

The Joker was furious, his heartbeat starting to quicken upon realization of what he now needed to do.

Catching Anders off guard, he suddenly gripped either side of Anders' head and ruthlessly bashed it against the floor, knocking the man out cold and further adding to his previous head injury.

With Anders temporarily unconscious, the Joker stood, working his way around the island in the kitchen until he was standing in the dining room. He looked straight at Taylor who was hiding under the dining room table and shaking uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize that she was looking back at him, staring on in absolute horror.

From under the table, Taylor could see that the Joker's eyes were completely livid, his nostrils flaring in rage and his hands clenched in tight fists. She couldn't help but cower away and try to crawl backwards when he started towards her. A cry was ripped from her mouth when he suddenly pushed the chairs aside and made a grab for her arm, wrenching her out from under the table. He then proceeded to drag her down the hallway at a brisk pace, Taylor's hair disheveled and blood dripping down the side of her face as she tripped and stumbled to keep up with him, crying confusedly.

He yanked her through the kitchen and down the opposite hallway, stopping short to push open a door to a room they hadn't been in before. Shoving Taylor inside, he slammed the door behind him.

In a fit of rage, he seized her upper arm, roughly dragging her towards the wall and pushing her up against it so that her head slammed into it.

She let out a pitiful, choked sob as he crouched down in front of her, holding her to the wall with one hand. His eyes were as black as night and narrowed dangerously at her. After a moment, he licked his lips and leaned into her, feigning calmness.

"Didn't I uh, didn't I tell you not. To Leave. The room? _Hm_?" he prodded. "Didn't I say that?"

Taylor coughed, knowing the answer. "I—I'm sorry," she whimpered.

Her apology only seemed to anger him more. "You're 'sorry'?" he sneered. "No you're _not_," he told her, growling, "but I can assure you that you're gonna be."

Still pinned to the wall, she could only stare at him with wide, terrified eyes, trying her hardest not to cry.

The Joker was fuming. He didn't know exactly why, but he realized that in this moment, he couldn't remember a time when he had been angrier. He tried to remind himself that she was just a little girl, tried to remind himself that she was weak and small and helpless and that she shouldn't be held entirely accountable for _his_ blind mistakes—but none of that seemed to make a difference. He was _angry_, and there was nothing that anyone could do to change that. He had to take his anger out on someone, and if it wasn't going to be Anders, then it was going to be her.

In his insensate rage, he scoffed at her fear, a cruel, unsympathetic smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Things were about to seriously change now in the moments to come. He was done with her. He was done pretending to be nice to her, done playing her little games. And, to top it all off, he found that he didn't even care in the least.

She was going to be _so_ fucked up after what he had in store for her.

When her eyes started to water, he snarled at her viciously. Gripping her arm, he roughly yanked her towards him so that her face was only inches from his own.

"Don't you _dare_ start crying."


	17. Chapter 17

**_Author's Notes: _**_Some of the most amazing reviews I've ever received for this story came from the last chapter. Thank you so much for loving this story as much as I do. Your positive, helpful feedback encourage me to keep writing. All of your words are so special to me, and I cherish each one. I'm so sad that this story is going to wrap up in only a couple more chapters, but I hope you guys will stick with me till the end. You are **all** incredible, and I can't possibly say that enough._

_This chapter was intense to write. Everything up until this point has been a cakewalk, really. While writing, I really just let myself go and put all my emotion and soul into it, so I hope that shows. _

_I want to offer a huge thank you to one very dedicated reader, _**Vermilion69**_, one of the most amazing reviewers I've had to date for this story. Also, special thanks to _**PutMeDown**_, _**Sarafina Knowles**, _and an extra special thanks the anonymous reviewer _**Jokerlover449**_; your reviews were so inspiring, so thank you. And to everyone else, I have nothing but gratitude. Thanks for enjoying my work._

_Listen to 'The Four of Us Are Dying' by Nine Inch Nails on repeat when you read this chapter. There are no words, but the music is… stunning, I promise you that. _

_

* * *

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**Chapter Seventeen**

Taylor let out a hiccupped gasp in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. The Joker was staring at her in fury, his eyes the darkest color she had ever seen them and his body rigid and tight. He was absolutely _enraged_, she realized. His breathing was heavy and uneven, and she cowered back into the wall whilst squeezing her eyes shut, silently begging for him not to hit her. She could only tense, simply waiting for the blow she was sure would come.

His heavy pants of breath fanned across her face as his eyes trailed over the left side of her jaw, studying the crescent-shaped fingernail marks that were imprinted there. With poorly concealed rage, he inspected the thin trails of blood that trickled down her jaw line. Narrowing his eyes, he lifted his hand, grabbing her jaw and forcing her head to the side while his eyes roamed over the marks that Anders had made. He was furious that Anders had hurt her let alone even _touched_ her. No one touched his things. Taylor belonged to him, and he didn't appreciate that someone was trying to steal her away from him. He didn't even care that she had been hurt, he was only pissed because she was _his _to hurt, not Anders or anybody fucking else's.

Taylor grimaced in pain when he wiped the streaks of blood away with the heel of his palm. Holding back a pained sob, she let out a shuddering breath instead.

"Don't kill me," she suddenly whispered to him, surprising the Joker entirely and catching him off guard with her plea.

There was something dreadfully sobering in hearing a little girl beg for her life, and it nearly knocked him right out of his clouded, rage-induced haze. Hostages and random people who were unwilling pulled into his world of chaos begged with him all the time, _"Please, please don't hurt me_," they would say. But hearing that same plea come from the mouth of an innocent little girl felt strangely _wrong_.

He licked his lips, almost at a loss for words, and shifted on his haunches, the silver chain hanging from his hip brushing against her bare leg. He let his grasp loosen around her arm until it slipped off completely.

"Wha-_t_?"

Taylor cautiously opened her lids, her lashes fluttering for a moment before her eyes opened fully. "I'll be good," she promised in a desperate whisper. "I promise I will, just—just _please_ don't kill me." Her voice cracked as she shrank further into the wall, trying hard to hold back her tears.

"Why-_ah_," he smacked his lips, speaking slowly, almost hesitantly, "why would I uh, _do_ that?" He stared hard at her and she only whimpered in response to his question, turning her head to the side. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the wall, anything that would put some distance between them as she feebly pushed her hands on his chest. "Stop _doing_ that." He irritably brushed her hands away and then tugged her closer by gripping her upper arm. "Look at me."

Her chest heaved and her breathing was erratic and uneven as he held her in a vice grip. Now she was just being _ridiculous_.

"Why would I _kill_ you? Hm?" She refused to meet his eyes so he grabbed her chin and roughly pulled her forward. "Tell me _why_," he growled.

Taylor cringed at the sound of his voice, so nervous she could hardly speak. "He—he" she swallowed thickly, "he said that you were bad and that—that you . . . you would kill me."

The Joker loosened his grasp only slightly, challenging her with a slow, knowing nod of his head, eyes penetrating hers.

"Did he now?"

She shook her head back and forth slowly. "Please don't," she begged, her voice small and utterly helpless. She surprised him when she cautiously moved into his arms, her small fingers curling around the straps of his suspenders as she hugged herself to him. Sobbing freely now, she let the tears spill down her cheeks that the Joker had told her to hold back. "Please don't," she whispered again. "I . . . I _love_ you."

For one sickening, horrible moment, time itself seemed to slow and the Joker didn't know how to respond. No one—_no one_—had _ever _said that to him before.

How could she . . . how could she just _say _that to him like that? Did she even know what those words meant?

He didn't dwell on it long. His utter bewilderment lasted only for a fraction of a second before it was once again replaced with anger. He laughed cruelly, narrowing his eyes at her and shoving her away from him, her back hitting the wall.

"You _love_ me?" he scoffed. "You love _me_?" His voice rose in pitch and Taylor stared up at him in horror as he rose to his full height. "That's the most _fucked up_ thing I've ever heard."

He tongued along the inside of his cheeks and willed his anger to calm as he looked her over. She fearfully met his gaze as she stood with her back to the wall, too terrified to even move.

He couldn't deal with her right now. He knew that if he let himself get too worked up he would do something to her that he would ultimately regret, and he was done making stupid mistakes. He wouldn't hurt her. Not yet, anyway. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to just slash her throat and get her out of the picture once and for all . . . but he couldn't jeopardize his whole operation in order to satisfy one moment of incensed anger. He just needed to get away from her. He needed to clear his mind and to think.

"You're gonna stay in here," he stated calmly, his voice taking on that nasally tone that Taylor didn't like. He nonchalantly pulled one of his suspender straps back up to his shoulder after it had been tugged down. "You're gonna think about what you did. Maybe next time you'll _listen_ when I _tell _you something, hm?"

Tears trailed down her cheeks as she stared at him through blurry eyes, gasping when he none-too-gently cuffed her against the cheek, making her head bang against the wall. He sneered at her and then exited without another word.

Taylor let her tears fall completely then, sobbing to herself in hopeless abandon. _I'm a bad girl, I'm a bad girl_, she kept mentally repeating to herself. They were the same words her mother had repeated to her countless times before, and now she couldn't get the mantra out of her head.

She knew what she had done was wrong, she knew she should have listened to him when he'd told her not to leave the bedroom, but she had only meant to be gone for a moment. She hadn't planned on running into Anders and Wilks.

She seated herself on the floor and hugged her knees tightly to her chest, burying her head there. She sat like that for a while, desperately wanting to go sleep—she was terribly exhausted—but finding herself unable to do so because of all the things that were running through her mind. She tentatively reached up a hand to the side of her jaw and brushed the tips of her fingers there, feeling dried blood.

Through the window across the room, the world outside was growing dim, and the room was becoming darker by the minute. The trees whispered to each other nosily and creaked in the wind, filling the void of silence. Sniffling, she shifted so that she was lying on her side, pressing her cheek to the cold, hardwood floor and curling her arms against herself for warmth.

It was nearly three hours later when she gasped and awoke with a start. Warm hands slid up her arms and she groggily blinked, surprised to find that she had fallen asleep. Her face felt stiff and dry from her tears and her eyes were red and sore. The room, draped in blackness, was freezing cold and she shivered, goose bumps rising over her arms and legs.

She was only vaguely aware of when strong hands slipped under her back and lifted her up from the floor. Who was holding her?

"Mr. J?"

When she was pulled into his chest—and she knew it was _him_ because she could smell the greasepaint—she could feel his heart racing impossibly fast, like it was trying to break free of his ribs.

"Mr. J?" she questioned again, her voice thick with worry as she tried to look up at him through the dark. She struggled in his arms but he only tightened his grip.

Outside the room, it was also dark, and the Joker silently carried her through the kitchen and down a different hallway to another part of the house, a part she hadn't been in before.

When they arrived at their destination, he abruptly stopped and opened a door, Taylor burying her head into his shoulder when a harsh light assaulted her eyes.

He set her down on the ground and then shut the door with a deafening bang, making her jump in fright and open her half-lidded eyes. She looked around confusedly, not understanding why they were in the bathroom.

It wasn't a very spacious one but was decorated much like the rest of the house, with dark oak trim lining the walls and a black countertop with silver faucets. Ahead of her, a bathtub with a glass door rested in the corner and large, dark gray tiles lay beneath her feet.

Directly in front of her, though, sprawled out on the floor, was Anders. He was lying flat on his back and was clearly unconscious, his arms pinned behind his back and his jaw slack. A heavy-looking metal chain was wrapped around his calves and was wound all the way down to his ankles. The chain was then hooked to the metal air-conditioning grate on the floor, ensuring that he would not escape. Stripped from the waist up, his shirt was torn off long ago to reveal pale, unmarred flesh.

When Taylor saw him, she immediately shrank back and went to pull open the door. The Joker, however, grabbed her by the back of her dress and yanked her towards him.

"Why, just where you do you think _you're_ going, sweetheart?" His voice was nasally and full of mock concern, and Taylor only whimpered in response. "Don't you want you want to _play_?"

He spun her around to face him and for the first time she noticed how angry and absolutely livid he looked. The white florescent lights of the bathroom made his greasepaint look even more garish than usual, his black eyes glistening dangerously.

She breathed heavily, shaking her head back and forth. "I don't wanna be in here," she whined. She didn't even care about Anders anymore, she wasn't scared of him.

She was scared of the Joker.

She had never seen him look so primal, so feral and completely animalistic. His teeth were bared at her like he was some kind of wild, vicious creature and his muscles were taut with pent-up anticipation.

Before she even knew what was happening, he suddenly grabbed her by the arm, hauling her forward and pulling her towards Anders. He forced her to her knees beside the man's waist as she cried out in confusion. She felt the Joker get on his knees behind her, his chest pressed up against her back and his thighs enclosing around hers.

She was too terrified to speak, more confused than she had ever been in her whole life. She felt something cool sliding into the palm of her hand then, and, when she looked down, saw that it was a long, serrated knife with a narrow gap in between the blade, reminiscent of a potato peeler. She trembled in fear and was about to drop it when the Joker's bare hand closed around her own, forcing her to curl her fingers around the hilt of it.

"Hold on to it," he whispered in her ear.

She could feel the excited beats of his heart against her back and his humid exhales of breath assaulting her neck. He snaked his tongue across his lips and then almost lovingly pulled her long hair behind her back, smoothing it and running his fingers through the strands.

When she started to quiver in fear, she felt his lips at the shell of her ear, could feel them moving against her as he whispered deceptive, soothing words to her. She closed her eyes and listened to his voice as his hand left her hair and wrapped around her small torso, pulling her back against him. His other hand that was clutched over hers squeezed rhythmically, making the metal hilt of the knife dig into her palm.

"Do you know what this man tried to do to you?" He finally broke the silence, his voice throaty and low.

Taylor shook her head back and forth to say 'no,' already feeling panicked tears prick at her eyes. She blinked to hold them back and heard the Joker lick his lips.

His voice was gritty when he spoke, as if the words coming from his mouth tasted like dirt. "He tried to take you _away_ from me, Taylor. He was going to hurt you . . . going to make you _bleed._" His hot breath fell over her ear, making her shiver. She lifted her head to stare at Anders, his eyes still closed. He seemed peaceful, such a stark contrast to what she herself felt right now.

He let go of Taylor's hand then, taking the knife along with him, and Taylor shrank back into the Joker's chest in shock when he moved to hit Anders upside the head with it. He kept his other arm wrapped around her securely, ensuring she wouldn't try to get away.

Anders groaned as his eyes weakly fluttered open. A grimace pulled at his face as he came to, his skull throbbing with unprecedented pain.

When he gained full consciousness, he looked around confusedly, for a moment thinking it was a dream that Taylor was sitting next to him on her knees and that the Joker was kneeling behind her.

"I'm glad you're awake for this," the Joker said seriously, his face grim.

Taylor stared in horror at Anders, remembering how he and Wilks had put duct tape over her mouth and tried to kidnap her. She started to whimper.

"Mr. J please, _please_," she begged. "I wanna go home," she whispered frantically, beginning to quiver fear. "I wanna go home now!"

Behind her, he only grinned against her ear. "Shhh shh sh, baby doll." He reached up a hand to pet her hair, soothing her. "You're not the one getting their intestines ripped out today." He looked pointedly at Anders and offered him a sardonic grin. "Doesn't that just sound _s-o_ . . . _excruciating_?"

Anders finally seemed to come out of his haze because his eyes widened and he twisted his shoulders, suddenly realizing that his hands were bound behind his back. He discovered that he couldn't move his legs, either. He let out a loud, guttural groan in frustration and arched his back up off the floor, vainly attempting to escape his bonds.

The Joker laughed at him and grabbed Taylor's hand, putting the knife in it once again and enclosing her hand within his own. He felt his own body shudder in anticipated excitement. Shifting closer, his pressed his chest firmly against her back as he leaned forward.

"This is what you're gonna do, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear. "It's really quite _easy_." He licked his lips and gripped her hand tighter when she tried to let go of the knife. "You're going to do exactly what he was going to do to you." He paused to let that sink in and then purposely brushed his lips against her ear. "All you have to do is make him _bleed_."

Taylor stared at Anders in horror as he stared back at her, panic beginning to show in his eyes.

She nodded her head 'no' once again, her heart giving a sharp jump in her chest as realization of his words sunk in. Everything Anders had told her was true. Mr. J _was _a killer. She could hardly breathe at this newfound epiphany, even if she didn't fully understand what it all entailed.

"Mr. J, _no_, please," she cried, trying to twist her body out of his embrace. "Let me go, I don't wanna do it. I don't want to!"

The Joker growled and only gripped her waist harder, forcing her back against him so tight that she grimaced in pain. "You are_ going_ to do this," he ground out. He raised her hand that was enclosed tightly within his own, bringing the knife towards Anders' body.

He made her angle the blade right beneath his ribcage and then lower it to his skin. Anders stiffened and tried to suck in his stomach, but the blade only followed his movements.

"Wait, stop!" He writhed while Taylor could only watch helplessly as the Joker made her slowly scrape the sharp, ribbed end of the blade over his flesh.

Crying out in agony, Anders body arched off the floor and Taylor screamed along with him, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the Joker force the knife farther down until a long, thin strip of skin had been peeled from his body.

The Joker savored both of their screams as he brought the knife back up again and repeated the action, this time over the sensitive area of the man's breast. This made Anders really jerk in pain, and he arched up once more, futilely pulling at his restraints like some wild, rabid animal. He cried out profanities and cursed as he twisted, consumed with pain.

Taylor screamed again and turned her head away, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt blood pooling beneath her fingertips. She cried when she felt the Joker's pleased laugh rumbling in her ear, his hand over hers squeezing impossibly tight, cutting off her air circulation as he forced her to strip the flesh from Anders' bones.

He could feel Anders' blood pooling beneath his own fingertips, could smell the bitter, coppery scent. He felt with his fingers the thin strips of flesh that had been flayed from Anders' body and now lay haphazardly across his skin. He could feel Taylor's body quivering beneath his own, could practically _taste _her and Anders' intermixed screams of horror and pain. He closed his eyes in rapture and swallowed, forcing Taylor's hand to move blindly over Anders' body. He wasn't scraping flesh from bone anymore as much as he was just scraping _bone_. Gradually, he felt himself growing hard, his erection straining against his pants. He let out a stifled groan, not having been expecting it. Taylor was beginning to struggle against him, determined to get away. She cried and screamed, twisting her body this way and that, only making him more excited.

He must have done something especially painful with the knife because when he opened his eyes, Anders was full-out gasping frantically, like a fish out of water. He looked down and saw all the blood that coated Anders' chest and nearly lost it. As Taylor continued to thrash in his hold, he irritably let go of her and forcefully shoved her away with a growl, determined to finish Anders' death himself. She had already done her job, now it was _his_ turn.

He could hear her loud cries and sobs as she curled herself into a ball near the bathtub, covering her ears with her hands and closing her eyes even as she screamed.

The Joker ignored her as he finished Anders off, smiling darkly as he dug his knife into Anders' stomach and ripped open his gut, the man's insides spilling out onto the tile.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was so nasty and chaotic and the Joker shuddered as his jaw went slack, groaning in ecstasy as he savored the feel of the warm, slick blood coating his hands.

Anders' body gradually went limp then, and his breathless gasps of pain died into soft, pitiful moans until the life was slowly drained out of him.

In the moments that followed, the room faded into an eerie silence, Taylor's shuddering, panicked sobs the only source of noise. The Joker shivered in pleasure and dropped his hands to the tiled floor, resting his weight on all fours, head bowed and his breathing shallow.

Time ceased to exist in those breathless moments of mixed rapture and horror. The Joker slowly, carefully curled his fingers into the tile, feeling Anders' blood gather beneath his fingertips. It was sticky and warm and wet and the Joker was powerless to do anything other than close his eyes and revel in the hybrid of his emotions. His anger, his ecstasy, and his confusion coursed through his veins in a high speed, electric current, matching the rapid beating of his heart.

Still on all fours, he raised his head, staring through the tendrils of hair that fell over his forehead. He fixed his dizzy gaze on Taylor's small form, her body curled into a tight ball and her face buried in her dress, tremors wracking her body as she continued to sob.

He rolled his eyes and slowly got to his feet, gripping the sink for support as he lifted himself up. His knife clattered to the tile in the process and he seemed a bit surprised, eyes lazily wandering towards the object.

He stared at it for a moment, and then looked towards Taylor.

He realized then that he wanted to kill her.

Screw his fucking _plan_. He could find another child to use—it'd be easy, really. He could just pick one up from the park or something. They were everywhere.

She was ruining him. He had let himself grow attached to her almost—let himself actually start to _like_ her—and now everything was screwed because of it. Nothing was right anymore.

He could make her death so effortless, too.

He could kill her right now and get it over with in only a matter of seconds. He could make it painless for her; he didn't have to drag it out. One easy slit of the throat and she'd be gone from his life forever. He needed her for his plan, yes, but now all she was becoming was a hindrance. He hated that he was starting to justify himself around her, as if he actually needed an excuse for the way he acted and the things he did. And he hated that he was going out of his way to protect her, to keep her safe from harm. What kind of oxymoronic joke was _that_, anyway? He was trying to protect her and keep her from danger and yet he _was _danger. _He_ was the epitome of sin and death, he embodied wickedness. He was chaotic and deadly, uncaring and_ ugly_. He was a villain—a _monster_. Taylor didn't even really _know_ who he was, didn't know the nasty thoughts he had, didn't know the awful things he had done to people, didn't know the full extent of his chaotic power.

Or maybe she _did_ know but she clung to him anyway because he was all that she had. He was a fucking monster and he was all that she had.

The switchblade in his hand was clenched tighter, digging into the skin of his palm.

_It'd be so easy . . . ._

But damn it, look at all he had _done _for her.

He had done too much. He had clothed her, fed her, hell, he had even given her a _bath_. He had saved her life, and she would've died if it hadn't of been for him. How could he kill her after he had already done so much for her? It seemed pointless, all the fruits of his labor gone to waste if he killed her now.

But that wasn't really the reason why, was it? No, it wasn't, because if he were to be painfully honest with himself . . . Taylor was the most fascinating and utterly frustrating human being he had ever encountered. Her naivety and pure innocence was unlike anything he had ever seen before. She was uncorrupted and untainted by the horrors of the world, assumed that people were inherently good and was always searching for that light at the end of tunnel, that one ray of hope to guide her. It sickened him more than anything—her startling innocence—but even despite those things, he couldn't deny how _real_ she was.

People tried to cover their scars—her own mother had been evidence of that—and tried to conceal their flaws from the rest of the world . . . but Taylor, she had nothing to hide. She was unembarrassed by the marks that marred her body. She wasn't ashamed of them, wasn't scared to show her blemishes, if solely for the fact that she didn't know any better. She wasn't concerned with hiding her true self, and her naivety and innocence often made the Joker pause and contemplate, something that both thrilled and infuriated him.

He was infatuated with her very mind, intrigued by the way in which she seemed to view the world and the people around her. She was cautious and shy of nearly everyone, and yet she was also easily swayed and a little too eager and trusting for her own good.

And at the same time, her sometimes fearless demeanor and persistence confused him. She approached him again and again for love and affection, and each time he shot her down, she got back up and tried again. That kind of perseverance for someone so young was almost unbelievable.

She was maddening and confusing and he hated it . . . but she was an enigmatic paradox he couldn't shake.

It was her quiet, moaning sobs that drew him from his thoughts, and he blinked himself out of his momentary haze. Slowly, he came towards her, unable to keep himself away. He knelt down next to her and pushed her so that she was on her back. She didn't fight him like he half expected her to, but that was fine by him. She obviously didn't have the energy or the strength, her body still convulsing in shudders.

Her throat was sore from screaming and her eyes were bloodshot and burned from all her tears; she could still taste the remnants of salt from them in her mouth. She was still in shock at what the Joker had forced her to do. She couldn't even quite comprehend just what it was that she had done or why. All she knew was that she had seen blood—_lots_ of it—and had heard Anders' screams of agony. That was all she had needed to see and hear before she lost it. She had never been so horrified in all of her small existence. She couldn't escape the sounds images that were haunting her mind. Anders' face, Mr. J's grumbling laughter, the blood, the desperate screams.

She shuddered into the Joker's chest when he scooped her up into his arms, burying her head there as he carried her down the pitch black hallway. He smelt metallic, like copper pennies, and the scent stung her nose and brought more tears to her eyes.

Shaking in his arms, she was terrified, but she knew she didn't want him to let her go.

She heard a door open and vaguely realized that they were back in the master bedroom, the room dark. He closed the door behind him with his foot and then carried her over to the chaise lounge by the window, setting her down onto it. The wind outside was whipping noisily, rustling through the tree branches as heavy, icy sleet pelted against the glass windows and loudly clattered against the roof.

Whimpering as she felt her body gently dropping onto the couch, she called out for the Joker. She was scared of him, confused and scared of what he had just forced her to do, but her fear of being left alone was greater than her fear of the monster she called her friend. She called out to him again, her voice cracking in desperation, but when he didn't reply, she cried herself to sleep, too weary to do anything else.

When morning came only a few short hours later and Taylor awoke, she found herself still sprawled across the chaise. The room was doused in a bitter cold, and the chilled air made goose bumps rise over her flesh. The Joker was still nowhere in sight, and Taylor's heart sped up a little upon the realization. She willed her eyes to open wider, a difficult task, and looked around the room with half-lidded eyes. From beyond the window, a fresh layer of snow coated the ground outside, and the sky was dark and cloudy, the world seemingly completely still. The beat of her heart slowed a bit when she noticed the light on from beneath the crack in the bathroom door, and she calmed.

Quietly, she removed herself from the chaise and padded over to the bed, crawling towards the headboard and pulling back the covers. She slipped underneath them and, feeling significantly warmer, felt her eyes droop closed almost immediately.

She was roused from her sleep not too long after only to find the Joker pulling back the covers. She moaned and rolled onto her stomach to bury her face into the pillow. The Joker, however, rolled her over onto her back again and slipped an arm underneath her, lifting her up into his arms. Not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed, she softly cried as she tiredly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Still foggy from sleep, her thoughts were distant from last night, and the incident felt more like a very faraway dream that she couldn't quite recall. She was only vaguely aware that they had left the bedroom, but she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes to see if she was correct.

When she was assaulted by a piercing, icy wind, her eyes shot open, surprised, and she looked around. In the early morning dawn, the sky was a dark shade of gunmetal gray. The wind was moving gently through the tops of the trees, unlike last night, and the snow had temporarily ceased to fall.

"Mr. J?" she murmured. She lifted her head from his shoulder and her wet lashes brushed against one of his scars in the process. The action drew an involuntary shiver through him, and he swallowed.

They had already descended down the staircase from the deck and the Joker was now opening the back door of the car. He set Taylor down into the seat and then proceeded to buckle her while she quietly cried, the click resounding in her ears. Her lashes fluttered tiredly against her cheeks and she strained her eyes to see through the foggy, dark gray haze. She suddenly took notice of how hasty the Joker's actions seemed, a determined frown pursing the corners of his mouth. His greasepaint looked fresh, too. Confused, she crinkled her brows.

"Mr. J, where are we going?" She brushed her tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled, but she didn't receive an answer as the Joker dropped into the driver's seat and started the car.

While Taylor had been sleeping, the Joker had been up making some phone calls. Anders and Wilks had been a temporary and unfortunate distraction, but since neither of them were no longer a problem, the Joker was able to resume what he had come up to the house to do in the first place, which was _plan_.

Now it was time to shift gears and put his thoughts into actions.

And if he didn't say so himself, it was pretty damn good timing on his part too, because they just narrowly missed the ice storm. Taylor slept for the whole three hours it took to get to Gotham, and when they arrived, the weather made a turn for the worse. It was only nine in the morning and the sky was already dangerously gray. Snow fell hard, twirling and spinning in the chaotic patterns of the wind.

It felt good to be back in Gotham. It was the city he loved to hate, and he would have reveled in the ugliness of it all had he not been so distracted. Taylor was strangely quiet as he parked the car in the back parking lot of their designated location. For once she didn't ask any questions as he opened her door and ordered her to get out.

When she was out, she struggled to keep up with his long strides through the flurry of snow. Irritated, he stopped short, shoes scraping against the pavement, and hauled her into his arms.

They made it across the parking lot in little time and he pushed open the door to the back entrance of the huge brick building that towered above them. His face was grim with determination as he strode down the dark hallway with heavy steps.

Looking up into his painted face, Taylor instantly felt that something was wrong. She wondered what they were doing in this strange building, and why he looked so angry.

When the Joker noticed her looking at him, he smiled eerily at her, holding her gaze. "Why so serious?"

Taylor, confused by what he meant, shook her head and furrowed her brows, causing the Joker's smile to widen further. He gradually slowed his walk and then set her down on the ground, crouching down in front of her, hands on his knees. Taylor took a step backwards, but in the narrow width of the hallway, there wasn't much place to move. She suddenly felt nervous that the Joker had given her his full attention, and she stared at him with wide eyes.

Licking his lips, he shifted closer to her, his back hunched and his face lowered so their eyes were level. "You look a little . . . _confused_," he said, feigning a look of sympathy. "Well," he began, tone suddenly darker, "let me just _enlighten_ you on what's about to happen, baby doll." His tongue swept over the expanse of his bottom lip and he stared intently into her green eyes. "You see, I need to send a _message_," he explained, "and you. Are. It."

Before Taylor could enquire anything further, he grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to the only door that occupied the long expanse of the hallway. He pushed it open and quickly shoved her inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Taylor, thinking she was going to be locked into the room, immediately spun around and grabbed the Joker's leg. "Please don't," she cried.

He only smiled down at her, darkly amused. Clasping his hands behind his back, he bent down to whisper in her ear.

"_Turn around_."

Cautiously, she let go of his leg and turned.

Eyes widening in shock, she stared in confusion and horror when she saw a young man strapped to a chair in the center of the room, his body battered and bruised. Black hair hung over his eyes, shielding his face from view.

When the man wearily raised his head, Taylor gasped and shrank backwards, mouth agape.

"Seeing as how we're all already _acquainted _with one another," the Joker strode past Taylor and caught Jacob roughly by the chin, looking pointedly into his eyes, "let's get this party started, shall we?"


	18. Chapter 18

_**Author's Notes: **__I've finished my first ever multi-chapter story, _High Speed_, and it's personally one of my favorite stories that I've written so far. I've also written my first ever Joker/Harley story called _Distorted_, which I would love for all of you to check out, even if you're not a huge J/H shipper. I'll admit that the pairing isn't my favorite, but I'm trying to depict the two of them in a new way and give them a storyline that's never been done before. _

_And since so many of you seemed to enjoy the song suggestion for the last chapter, I have another one. "Help Me I Am In Hell" by Nine Inch Nails is a great song for this particular chapter. The song is rather short, but if you can find a way to put it on repeat, I would strongly recommend listening to it. _

_Anyways, I apologize for rambling. Thank you all so, so much for the incredible reviews. I read each and every single one and take every word to heart. You all are wonderful. I sincerely hope you like this chapter. I hadn't intended it to be, but it is the longest one I've written yet. _

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

In all of his existence, Jacob had never felt angrier than he did now.

There had been times where he'd _really_ flipped his lid, too. He'd broken into a livid rage once when an experiment in the testing field had gone wrong because of a colleague's error. They'd all nearly been blown sky-high because of one simple, faulty wiring mistake. Jacob was so angry he had to be escorted off the facility until he calmed down. Billions of dollars in corporate funding; blown in all of three seconds.

Prior to, back when he was serving in Iraq, he had watched as his fellow Marines were ruthlessly gunned in the streets and then trampled on by angry rioters. He cried out in fury as his comrades struggled to hold him back and yelled at him to "move out." Above the heated, foreign shouts of his adversaries and the grenades that burst like bloodied fireworks around him, he could hear only the weak, desperate pleas for help from his fallen soldiers. He still remembered how it felt to be overcome with panic as shrapnel rained down from overhead and the taste of gasoline filled his mouth like water he didn't want, threatening to choke him.

Then there had been Megan. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. She was the only girl he had ever wanted, and he was determined to have her. He remembered writing love letters to her in the third grade and shyly signing them, "Your Secret Admirer." He spent the better half of his life falling head over heels for her and blushing like crazy anytime she happened to glance in his direction.

When he was seventeen and had finally worked up the nerve to ask her to the senior prom, she accepted without hesitation. Everything fell into place after that. They fell in love and became official high school sweethearts. After three years of dating, Jacob knew he was ready to ask her to marry him.

His proposal, however, was put on hold when he was called to duty. Two years in Iraq, they told him.

He was heartbroken over the thought of having to leave Megan—the girl he had spent his whole life pining for—but she held his face in between her hands and kissed him passionately. She promised him that she'd wait for him.

But she _didn't_. He served two years—two _fucking_ years in the deserts of Iraq, his thoughts of Megan his sole survivor in that hot, desolate wasteland—but she wasn't there for him when he returned.

He wanted to be heartbroken about it, but his anger consumed him more than his sorrow did. The girl he had invested practically all of his life in had given up on him halfway through. It crushed him, but most of all, it killed a part of him inside, a part of him he began to wish he had never wasted on someone like her. It made him furious.

But those feelings of anger were incomparable to the ones he felt now.

Jacob's jaw ached fiercely from the Joker's bruising grip, and he jerked his chin away from the long, leather fingers that held it tight.

His eyes fell upon Taylor who stood shaking by the door, and he could only stare at the sight of her.

God, what had that man _done_ to her?

His mind was racing as he eyed her disheveled hair and bloodied dress. She was _covered_ in blood. He wondered if it was her own or someone else's. There were dried traces of it on her neck, arms, and legs. She looked terrified, too, just standing there, not knowing what to do or what to say.

Not knowing if she was going to live or die.

Jacob met the Joker's hard glare with an equally fierce one of his own and narrowed his eyes.

"Let her go."

The Joker smirked, cocking his head at the bruised and battered profile of the younger man. "And _you_ presume to tell _me_ what to do?" The Joker giggled, moving his face closer as Jacob strained his neck in an effort to pull away. "I don't think you're in _any _sort of position to do that. Just who do you think you _are_?"

Jacob groaned, trying to refrain from throwing his head forward and head-butting the face that hovered too close to his own.

"What do you want with me?" he demanded. He was tired of playing games with this monster. It sickened him even having to be within the same vicinity. It brought back memories of their first encounter he would have rather liked to forget.

The Joker opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted when the door opened across the room. All eyes turned to watch as Alex entered.

Taylor was the first to respond, letting out an anxious whimper and shying away from the door. Alex's eye patch and cane frightened her, and she folded her arms around her stomach as a make-shift shield to protect herself.

But Alex didn't even glance in her direction as he entered, shutting the door behind him. "Did he tell you where we found him?" he asked, leaning on his cane. He looked tired.

"We haven't exactly ah, gotten that far yet," the Joker replied, narrowing his eyes at Jacob. The man was still looking at Taylor, which pissed him off. He grabbed him by the back of the neck to get his attention, squeezing his spine. "Eyes on me," he warned. "Where'd you run off to, hm?"

When Jacob didn't respond, Alex chimed in. "He didn't exactly 'run' anywhere."

"What'd you do, boy?"

Still refusing to answer, Jacob dropped his head in shame. The Joker glanced at Alex for an explanation.

"He stole Rob's car."

"He _what_?"

"Somehow got a hold of the keys and took off before we could catch him. We found him crashed in a ditch only two miles from the place; figured he was heading to the police station when he hit a patch of ice and slid off the road."

"You sly bastard," the Joker laughed, gripping Jacob's neck with more force. "You were gonna tattletale to the cops on the little operation I've got running here? I don't really appreciate that, you know. I don't appreciate that at all."

"What do you want from me?" Jacob once again demanded, this time through gritted teeth. "If its weapons you want I can't help you. I don't have the access required to obtain them."

The Joker glanced at Alex and dramatically rolled his eyes, returning his gaze back to Jacob. He put his hand on the back of Jacob's chair and leaned in close, his soiled breath fanning across Jacob's face. "But that's not _really_ true, is it? You have more access than you know what do with!" He giggled, smiling through yellowed teeth. "You could blow up the whole _country _if you really wanted to, isn't that right?" When he didn't respond, the Joker smirked, voice darkening. "Yeah, that's what I though_t_."

He let go of Jacob's chair and paced the room, his long coat flapping behind him. Jacob thought he looked like some kind of phantom with the way his shoulders were hunched and the way his suit weighed heavily on his frame. He was too physically imposing to look like a clown, even if his makeup was parodied after such. No, the dark, garish purple of his coat and the black-rims that circled either of his eyes were replicas of the monsters straight from his very own nightmares. Except, this wasn't a nightmare. This was real.

"If you think I'm going to help you, you're out of your damn _mind_."

The Joker cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes glinting in the harsh overhead lighting.

"What did you just say?"

"I _said_," Jacob started, "you're crazy."

The room settled into an uncomfortable silence then, thick with tension. Jacob was able to meet the Joker's eyes only for a fraction of a second before the Joker's first slammed into his face with enough impact to break a few bones.

Alex remained in the doorway and stared at the scene with a weary expression while Jacob reeled. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, jaw opening in a silent gasp.

"Do you care to repeat that?"

Swallowing, Jacob's head dropped till his chin touched his chest. Something wet dribbled onto his shirt and he watched through lidded eyes as blood settled into the thin, ribbed pattern of his t-shirt. The urge to wipe the blood from his nose was strong, but the binds that held his wrists behind the back of the chair prevented him.

"You bastard," he muttered into his shirt. He tongued at his bottom lip and cringed at the metallic taste there. It was like sipping dirtied, copper pennies.

"Ya'know," the Joker started, cocking his head and briefly glancing at the ceiling as he reached into the recesses of his jacket, "now you're just rea-_lly _starting to _annoy_." He pulled out a knife and deftly flicked open the blade, grabbing Jacob's face. "I can fix that."

As he made to move, a deafening scream suddenly ripped through the room, forcing the Joker to pause. All eyes turned towards Taylor as she covered her eyes with her hands and sunk to the floor. The sound of her cry drew everyone's attention, and the three of them all stared at her, Jacob and Alex with pity, the Joker with annoyance.

Alex caught the Joker's eye and his silent command to do something about her cries, so he wasted no time. He limped over to where Taylor sat huddled in the corner and would have bent down to be level with her, but his bad leg prevented him from doing so. As his thin frame cast its shadow over her, Taylor suddenly started and looked up in fear, crying harder. Her chest began to heave with her frantic breaths until she was hyperventilating.

"Don't," she begged, shaking her head in panic.

Jacob lurched forward in his chair and urged the other men to do something, but his appeal only angered the Joker. He turned back to Jacob and gripped his bloodied jaw, pulling it closer to his face. He opened his mouth to speak but was once again cut off when Alex addressed him from across the room.

"Joker."

He sighed through his nose and turned in time to watch as Taylor's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped to the concrete floor.

For a moment, everyone could only stare. Silence fell upon the room and hung like a deadweight. The Joker regarded her unconscious form with annoyance. It occurred to him that he was going to have to get rid of her if he was going to chat with Jacob, at least for the time being.

"She passed out," Alex observed, somewhat surprised. He prodded at her with the tip of his cane as if she were some sort of animal, his face expressionless. He had never cared much for children; they cried too much and he never knew how to act around them. His appearance, he supposed, probably wouldn't help matters further. He had been told that his eye patch was "creepy" on more than one occasion; too bad no one knew that the gruesome sight underneath it was even more so.

"I can see that," the Joker replied lowly. His eyes drifted towards Jacob to see his reaction. He looked upset.

"Do you want me to take her upstairs?" Alex shifted as if he were about to pick her up, but the Joker quickly interjected.

"No." Alex raised his brows at the Joker's quick response. "I'll do it." He tongued at the inside of his scars as he stalked towards her, hauling her small, unconscious frame into his arms. Her head fell limply against his shoulder, her hands trapped in between his chest.

From across the room, Jacob regarded the scene with anger but also a slight, morbid interest. He resented the way the Joker treated Taylor, as if she were just some careless doll that he could neglect or simply lock away when she was bad. But there also seemed to be a side of possessiveness in his actions and with the way he looked at her. It didn't escape his notice how quickly the Joker had intervened from Alex picking her up. Apparently he didn't want anybody else to lay a hand on her. And that's what frightened him most of all. Jacob hated to admit it, but Taylor was probably better off dead than to be considered an object of the Joker's possession. The man probably treasured his knives more than her did her, but even then, his strange fascination with Taylor was worrying. He desperately hoped that she would be okay. He still didn't know what the hell the Joker was doing with her in the first place, but he assumed she was a relative of some sort, even if Taylor had said otherwise to him back at the motel. It was strange to imagine though that somebody like the Joker had family. Monsters like him weren't born; they were _created_.

"Don't let him out of your sight," the Joker growled to Alex, loud enough for Jacob to hear. Their conversation was far from over, and he gave Jacob a knowing look to tell him so.

He threw open the door after Alex handed him a key card. No words were exchanged as he took it and exited with an unconscious Taylor still in his arms. The dimly-lit hallway provided just enough light for him to navigate to where he needed to go. He had roamed the halls of Alex's lavish but cheap hotel many times, though those memories were distant and often fleeting. Sometimes he heard screams, other times his own mad laughter. Blurred images and snippets of conversations all meshed together as one, and in his jumbled mind, trying to differentiate between them would have been impossible. He didn't want to remember anyway; didn't need to.

The basement halls were dark and damp; narrow, almost like the passageways would be on an old, murky ship. He felt underwater; trapped. The stairs at the end of the corridor brought him to another hallway on the first floor. He could see the lights from the faux, gold chandelier in the lobby and the cheap Russian floor rugs with frayed tassels on the floor.

He stepped into the nearest elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, shifting Taylor so that she lay sideways in his arms. He looked down at her and noted her pale face and the otherwise lack of color there. Her body felt cold, rid of its usual warmth, and he realized that she was probably sick. Again.

She needed to eat something, no doubt. He often forgot to get food for himself, and he wasn't used to having to worry about getting it for anyone else. He would deal with that later.

On the seventh floor, the hallways were just as narrow as they were in the basement, only more lavishly decorated. The carpet and matching doors, dark red in color, were old and worn, much like the stripe-adorned wallpaper which was a faded golden brown. The lights were bright and made the doors that lined the halls look like they were slick with blood. He liked that.

He inserted the keycard into the door at the end of the hall with ease and stepped inside. It was the room he always stayed in, and Alex never let anyone else use it. Not even the maid ventured inside, and the Joker preferred it that way. When he entered, he was met with silence; the room was just as he remembered leaving it. The blackout drapes were partially closed, the bed unmade, and his makeup-stained towels were still scattered across the bathroom floor. He sighed through his nose as he lay Taylor down onto the bed. Her head lolled onto her shoulder but she didn't stir.

He considered her then, as he often had many times before, and realized with a sort strange confusion that he'd be getting rid of her soon. It was an odd thing to realize, something he hadn't given a lot of thought to over the past few days. It felt like she had been with him for such a long time, when in reality it had only been less than a week. And yet Taylor trusted him so much, and he sort of _liked _her. He liked that she trusted him, as perfectly naïve and foolish as she was. There was something thrilling in knowing that he was her only source of comfort, her only need. He had never been so important to anyone before. It didn't make him feel warm and fuzzy inside like it may have for others. It went beyond the bond between commonly shared between a child and an adult. It was something decidedly _wrong_, and he knew it. It was something that made him feel powerful and more dominant than he had ever felt before.

It wasn't some kind of passionate love he was feeling towards her, but rather something far darker and sinisterly deeper. This feeling inside him . . . it was made of pure, unadulterated fascination_._ It was a feverish and intense burning that consumed him whole. Every time he was near her he had the unfathomably strong and twisted desire to control her . . . to _possess_ her, emotionally and physically.

He felt like a sort of dark _god_. It would be easy to control and manipulate Taylor, young and impressionable as she was. It was like she was an object that _truly_ belonged to him—his little paper doll that he could cut and piece back together as he pleased—and that thought alone made something what felt like euphoria surge through his veins.

But she was also something more than just an object; she was delicate, fragile, and she had to be handled as such. Her wings would have to be peeled off slowly, carefully, like the most precious butterfly wings.

She was a piece of artwork, and he could mold her into just how he wanted her to be. He could . . . _recreate_ her . . . show her the world the way it was meant to be seen. He could _transform_ her into something that was pure genius, something utterly confusing and immoral and breathtakingly magnificent. He could make her like_ him_. He could gradually strip her of her innocence, that one protective shield that made her pure. He would pull her down into his dark abyss, the very monster that awaited her within his mind. He wanted to break her so badly; just thinking of the possibilities of what he could do made him sick with anticipation.

In a way, it was if he actually _needed_ her. He had this sadistic, raging fire within him to dominate her, to show her how powerful he truly was, and it was a fire that couldn't be quenched. He wanted her to know how easily he could end her life with just one simple stroke of a blade, because even despite all that, he knew she would come crawling back to him regardless of the obvious risks he imposed. He wanted to know how far she would go for him, how much she would do.

It was such madness, his fascination with this little girl. She was everything he was not. She was the epitome of every sort of moral code and characteristic trait he loathed and hated . . . and yet, he was still drawn to her, as darkness to light often was. Even the devil felt an attraction for Heaven. The line drawn between the darkness and the light was often a blurry one, forbidden boundaries too often crossed. The Joker liked to push those boundaries until they _snapped_.

He wondered what all this meant as he paced the window on the other side of the room. His movements were leisurely, thoughtful, his fingers flexing near his sides.

He had never planned on keeping Taylor for as long as he had. In fact, he had never planned on keeping her at all. But then his brilliant idea had struck and he couldn't let her slip away without somehow utilizing her. But when Black Mask had entered the picture, it had complicated things. The man wanted him dead, and he needed to know why before continuing with his operation. There were hundreds of mob members, police officers, and even a few stupid, random citizens who were gunning for him, wanted his ass locked in Arkham or Blackgate until he was nothing but an old, blabbering fool who needed to be spoon-fed by the nurses.

The mob and the GPD could be easily infiltrated though; they were no match for him. The Joker was concerned by their presence. Black Mask, on the other hand, had proved a force to be reckoned with. Caution needed to be taken with every step. The Joker didn't know who or what exactly he was dealing with, and after having been blindsided by his own men, he wasn't going to be making any more foolish mistakes.

And quite frankly—as much as he wanted to lure Batman out the obscurity he had disappeared into—he didn't know how willing he was going to be when the time came for him to kill Taylor. Black Mask was a welcome diversion to his plans, in a way. It meant that he got to keep Taylor for just that much longer.

The bloodthirsty monster inside of him pleaded for him to kill her, made his heart pound deliciously at the thought of all the blood she would spill, the way she would cry and beg for him to stop. It made him think of the doors in the hallway and how the white lights made them look slick and red, like thousands of pulsing veins and blood vessels grotesquely fused together as one.

The other monster inside of him—the darker, more calculated monster—urged him to keep Taylor, because one day she could prove useful to him. If he molded her after himself and taught her to worship the very ground that he walked on, he could make her a demon like him.

The very idea though—it was absurd. What on earth would he do with her? She wasn't going to stay young forever. She'd grow to be eight years old, and then pretty soon she'd be fourteen, and then she'd be twenty and practically all grown up.

_Twenty. _

He tried to imagine her at that age, but it was difficult to picture, especially with the way death loomed in her imminent future. But if she did survive . . . what would she be like? Would she still be attached to him as she was now? Would he want her to be? Would she even _remember_ him?

He mused over it all and over how much trust she had placed him. He scared the living daylights out of her and yet she still clung to him. It was both fascinating and infuriating, her need to be with him. She was so different from everyone else, a mystery he couldn't figure out.

_Some men like to watch the world burn, _his conscious whispered to him, _and some can't stand to destroy the things they don't understand._

His pacing paused long enough for him to stare out at the small sliver of the outside world that lay between the curtains. The sky was milky and silver, hanging above the skyscrapers like gray, chipped slabs of slate as snow fell in heavy white flakes. The city was always quiet during the winter months, especially after the holidays when all people really wanted was to escape their jobs and the stress of the outside world for just a few days longer.

The Joker reached for his pocket watch and glanced at the thin black hands, deciding that he had wasted enough time. Taylor was going to have to wait. He would decide what to do with her later, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he was going to kill her. The only question was when.

The sound of her stirring made him turn back to face her, and he watched as her eyes slowly fluttered open. She whimpered and raised her head from the pillow with some difficulty, her eyes searching the room until they fell on the Joker's familiar visage. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and the two of them stared, wondering who was going to make the first move.

She regarded him wearily at first, tucking a tangled strand of hair behind her ear and sniffling. She looked like some poor, hapless victim from a horror movie, the Joker thought, all spattered in blood and her hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot.

He cocked his head when she let out a choked whimper and crawled off the bed. After cautiously glancing at his face, she wrapped her arms around his leg, hugging herself to him. He stared down at her, hands hanging limply at his side.

"Mr. J," she sniffled, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she cried, gripping him tightly.

The Joker frowned. "And what are you _sorry_ about?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept saying, a mantra she couldn't stop. She buried her face into his leg and clung to him, sobbing with abandon. The Joker lifted a hand to touch her hair without even thinking about it, running his fingers through the matted strands as he stared down at her. She held onto him even tighter. "Don't leave me again," she sniffled. "I'll be a good girl, I promise I will."

"Taylor, Taylor, _Taylor_." Upon hearing her own name, the small girl could only look up at the Joker in confusion. He never called her by her name. "You wanna know what I think? _Hm_?"

He bent down to be level with her and Taylor scooted back to give him room. She felt herself tensing when he gripped her by her upper arms, his gloved fingers absently stroking the skin there. "I think you _worry _too much. I think you need to lighten up. _Smile_ a little bit more."

His eyes followed the fluttering movements of her long lashes and Taylor gulped, shivering beneath the leisurely movement of his fingers, the tips just barely stroking her arms.

"Give Mr. J a smile, hm? Come on, lemme see one."

The small girl sniffled and hesitantly lifted the corners of her mouth.

"There," the Joker grinned. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He wiped her tears away with his thumb and then stood.

"W—wait!" Taylor cried. "Where are you going?"

"Mr. J's got business to attend to, doll," he said without looking at her. He checked his appearance in a nearby mirror and adjusted his tie, making sure it resided snuggly against his neck. He was always reminded of a noose when he did that, and for a moment he pictured Black Mask, feet dangling above the ground and a thick rope wound around his neck. He couldn't wait to kill that bastard. What a _fool_. Putting a mark on _his _back? There were just some things that you didn't do, and trying to bring down the Joker was one of them.

Black Mask would learn soon enough—right as soon as he spoke with Jacob and got the information he needed.

"Don't go," Taylor pleaded, tears threatening to spill from her eyes once again. She reached out for his hand but the Joker pushed it away, frowning at her. She was staring up at him from beneath those dark eyelashes of hers, and he'd be damned if he hadn't thought about cutting those lashes right off.

He liked destroying beautiful things, he realized, had this overwhelming desire to twist good things into ugly, incomprehensible _trash_. That's why he liked Gotham. Gotham was a whore who let him do whatever he wanted with her. Sometimes she'd put up a fight, sometimes _daddy_ would come running to try and protect her because Gotham was young and naïve and needed to be taught right from wrong—but Gotham was corrupted beyond repair. She never listened to daddy and instead let the Joker have his way with her. Sometimes even _big brother_ would swoop in to save the day, because big brother believed in his sister and loved her—but Gotham was weak, her foundations too eroded. The Joker had her right where he wanted—and that was under his thumb.

When Taylor reached out for the Joker—_again_—it made him realize how desperate and clingy she was becoming. Before, she would have never dared reach out to him after he had just pushed her hand away, but her desperation and fear had obviously gotten the better of her.

Her small fingers tried in vain to enclose around his much larger hand, and the Joker was instantly furious. She was trying to hold hands with the _wrong_ person.

Taylor let out a sharp, strangled cry when the Joker turned and his fingers had suddenly encircled her neck. His other hand reached for her arm and he pulled her backward, hoisting her onto the bed and throwing her down onto it. He stood on the edge of it and leaned over her, his rancid breath fanning across her face.

"You're going to stay here," he whispered above Taylor's heavy breathing, his fingers loosening ever-so-slightly around her neck to give her room to breathe, "and I'm going to come back later. _Do you understand me_?" She had already disobeyed him once and almost gotten kidnapped because of it; he made it clear that there'd be hell to pay if she dared do it again.

Taylor nodded through watery eyes, trying to twist her neck out of the Joker's grip. He reached out with his free hand to touch her hair, stilling her movements. She paused, wide-eyed, and waited for what he would do next.

But he didn't do anything other than run his gloved fingers through her hair. It was an action done with the slowest and most feather-like movements, and Taylor was so transfixed that she couldn't bring herself to blink for even a second.

He smiled at her fear—pleased by the way she had submitted herself and was trembling beneath him—and leaned in close to her ear.

"See you soon," he whispered with a grin.

He pulled back to stare into her eyes one last time before removing himself. Taylor sat up to watch him leave, and as he opened the door, her voice called out to him.

"Mr. J?" He paused with his hand on the cool brass knob, his head turned only halfway to face her. "Please come back for me," she trembled in a frail voice. "I—I have to go home soon."

The Joker swallowed, pulling the door open wider. Taylor, for a second, thought he would leave without saying anything, but then he glanced back over his shoulder, still not meeting her eyes.

"You're not going home."

Those were his last words before the door was closed with a definite click.

Taylor could only stare at the place where he had exited with a confused expression. She felt her heartbeat quicken within her chest and then whimpered at the sudden pang in her stomach. Her nerves were making her sick.

What did he mean she wasn't going home? He had to take her home—he promised he would. And _she_ promised her mother that she wouldn't leave the apartment—meaning that Taylor had to get back before she arrived. Taylor had already been gone for what felt like so long. Surely her mother was home by now and waiting for her.

Taylor crawled near the headboard and curled herself in a ball near the pillows, her back to the window so she could face the door and await the Joker's arrival.

She missed her mother so much. She thought back to all the times they had spent together, just the two of them, and it made Taylor smile a little at the thought. There weren't very many pleasant memories to draw from, but she tried to think of as many as she could. She absently fingered the raised scar on her arm as she stared at the vacant pillow beside her, envisioning her mother's beautiful dark hair and pretty eyes. She wished her mother were beside her so they could hold hands as they seldom did. It was hard to fall asleep when she was all alone.

But she did after a while, after staring at the door for what felt like hours, her eyelids gradually became heavy and then eventually closed.

When she awoke sometime later, it was due to her growling belly and the hunger pains that made her moan and clutch at her middle. She let out a breathy whimper and rolled onto her back. For a moment, she could only stare up at the water stains on the white, tiled ceiling. They spun in wild circles above her head until Taylor couldn't follow them with her eyes and was forced to look away.

It was then she realized that she was dizzy, and she closed her eyes as she curled her arms tighter around her middle and fought back a whimper.

When the gurgling in her tummy quieted down enough, she sat up and slid off the mattress. She scanned the dark, quiet room with tired eyes, not really knowing what she was searching for.

She looked for her backpack, thinking that the Joker might have put it somewhere, but was disappointed when she couldn't find it anywhere. Her eyes suddenly fell on the mini fridge near the TV set, and, with a hurried dash, she made her way towards it. Inside, her eyes scavenged the three shelves for food, and she was delighted when she found a cheeseburger wrapped in silver foil.

She unwrapped it and took an eager bite, not caring in the least that it was cold and had most likely been sitting in the fridge for quite a long time. She had finished the whole thing in all of two minutes, even the pickles, which were very slimy and something she had never eaten before.

Not long after, her tummy began making strange noises again and with a pathetic moan she was forced to hurry into the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach. She cried over the toilet as she sat on her knees, sobbing as her meal was forced past her throat and her stomach was left with a strangely empty sensation.

It was a half hour later when she felt that she had finished, her body a trembling and shaky mess. She sniffled and brushed her long hair back from her shoulders as she tongued at the corners of her mouth—just as she had seen the Joker do many times before—and cringed at the acrid taste that resided there.

She attempted to wash her hands in the sink, but her small arms were unable to reach the faucet, so she wiped her hands and mouth on a nearby towel instead.

Back in the bedroom, she noticed that it had darkened considerably and she wondered what time it was. She wandered towards the window and pulled back one of the drapes just a crack. It was no longer snowing anymore, and the realization made Taylor uneasy. She liked the snow. It was sort of soft even if it was very cold, and she still had yet to see a penguin or a polar bear. She knew from her storybooks that they only came out to play when it snowed.

However, on the dirtied, gray streets below, no penguins or polar bears were to be seen. She regarded the outside world with an uneasy expression, hoping that Mr. J would return for her soon before it got too dark outside. She let herself slump against the cool glass of the window as she stared at the empty streets, occasionally wiping away the remnants of her fogged breath against the glass.

When it began to snow once more, she watched as the white particles became illuminated beneath the flickering street lamps. Her mother had told her that each snowflake had a different shape; no two were alike. Taylor was fascinated by this concept and wanted to see each different shape for herself. Beneath the streetlamps however, as they lazily twirled and fluttered to the ground, they looked nothing more than white dots. She tried to imagine their individual shapes instead, her attempts nothing more than one-dimensional and simplistic at best.

Taylor was startled out of her thoughts when she suddenly heard footsteps down the hall. She straightened and listened, but the footsteps seemed to have stopped. Maybe she had imagined them? But what if it was Mr. J?

She turned her head towards the door and stared, wondering if she should peer down the hall to see who was coming. She imagined herself spotting Mr. J and running straight into his arms, happy that he had returned for her. But then she considered how angry he might be if she did. He had told her to stay put, and so that's what she was going to do.

She suddenly gave another frightened jump when the footsteps started again, this time softer and much closer. The sound that followed made the small hairs on her arm stand on end. It was a strange cough that wasn't quite a cough, and it came from a voice she couldn't identify.

She stood next to the window, rooted to her spot in panic, and considered her options.

The only thought that crossed her mind was the bathroom. She rushed to it and quietly closed the door behind her, her heart so loud she thought it would burst from her chest. She whimpered as she hurried through the darkness and climbed into the tub, drawing back the curtain. She realized then that she had forgotten to lock the door, but she was too frightened to move.

She pulled her knees to her chest then and tried to keep from trembling, wishing more than anything that she had Teddy with her. The ceramic tiles of the tub were cold against her bare skin, and she hugged herself tighter as she listened for more sounds.

A moment later, when the door to the bedroom burst opened, Taylor's heart jumped into her throat and she was barely able to choke back a whimper. She could hear someone moving around in the outside room, opening the bedside drawers, the dresser, and then pushing back the drapes. She heard the curtains slide against the metal rod that hung above the window, and it was the most horrible screeching noise she had ever heard. She listened further as the hangers in the closest were leisurely pushed aside, followed by a long silence. _What's going on?_ she wanted to know.

When the knob on the bathroom door started to jiggle, Taylor's breath hitched in fear.

As the door opened, she pressed her back to the wall of the tub and struggled to hold her breath.

It took her only a second to realize that, whoever was in the room, it was _not _Mr. J.

The stranger's cologne filled her nostrils, overpowering all of her senses until she could taste it. It was a musky scent, something dark with a hint of cedar wood and tobacco.

When the fluorescent lights above the sink slowly flickered on, the room was so silent that Taylor could hear them buzzing. Her eyes were glued to the white, blurred curtain. She could just make out the stranger's dark silhouette. He was dressed nicely—if the stranger was a 'he' at all—and decidedly tall, probably around the same height as Mr. J. But the outline of his body was much different from the Joker's; his shoulders were broader, stronger, his arms muscled and toned, not long and sinewy like Taylor knew the Joker's to be.

And from what else she could make out, his suit was pinstriped—and black—and was cut much differently than the Joker's. While the Joker's purple trench was so long that it touched the back of his knees, the strangers did not. She stared at his impeccably shined black shoes, following their movements. He was staring into the mirror with his back towards her, and while Taylor assumed that he was simply regarding his reflection, it hadn't occurred to her that he was actually looking at _her_.

Just then, another figure came into the room, and Taylor ducked her shoulders and peered over her knees. He appeared as if he were about to say something when the stranger held up a hand to silence him.

In the painstaking moments of anxiousness that followed, the light continued to buzz nosily in Taylor's ears as she trembled, praying that they couldn't hear her the frantic pace of her heart.

Suddenly, the shower curtain was drawn back from the metal rod with a piercing shriek that resounded throughout the silence of the room. Taylor gasped aloud, staring up in fright at the figure who stared down at her.

It was _Wilks_, she recognized, and at the sight of him she let out a breathy whimper, feeling relieved. Maybe he was here to take her to Mr. J?

However, Taylor's relief didn't last long when she realized that Wilks wasn't the only figure in the room.

A taller and much darker figure seemed to loom just to the left of her, and as her gaze slowly drifted towards it, she felt her eyes widening in horror, mouth opening in a silent gasp.

"_Well_," the figure groveled through a lipless mouth, black sockets instead of eyes staring down at her, "aren't you just . . . _precious_."

As Black Mask reached for her, Taylor _screamed_.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's Notes: **__Special thanks to _**Luthanci**_ and _**DeathbyMonkees **_for their reviews and messages. And an extra special thanks to _**FreakwriterCHM**_ for helping me out with this chapter and for being a huge source of encouragement and inspiration when I needed it most. _

_I strongly suggest listening to __The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo OST sampler by __Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross during this chapter. You can listen to the song simply by visiting the website __**dragontattoo**__(dot)__**com**__. The song will play automatically and is on loop. __**Please note**__: this is in no way a promotion, as I have not yet seen the film nor have I read the book(s). _

_Since I've taken such a long time with updating this story, I wanted to give you all a (very) brief rundown of what's transpired thus far in the plot, in case some have forgotten. In the first chapter, we are introduced to the Joker who has broken out of Arkham six months after the events of _The Dark Knight_. Batman has disappeared from the limelight ever since Harvey Dent was proclaimed dead, and has presumably hung up his cape. The Joker, infuriated with the news, hopes to do something drastic to the people of Gotham that will literally force Batman to come out of hiding. When he stumbles upon Taylor, he realizes she is the perfect pawn for his plan. Those plans, however, are interrupted when an assassin is sent by the new crime lord, Durante Maroni, to kill the Joker. The assassination attempt is foiled, and the Joker goes in search of Durante himself to find out why the man wants him dead. The Joker soon discovers that Durante is only a cover up and that the real man behind the assassin attack is a new villain from the underground of Gotham called Black Mask. Wanting to seize the Joker's power and capture Batman's attention for himself, Black Mask feels that he must murder the Joker in order to do so. The Joker, needing to strategize, spends a few days in hiding until he can gather his plans. Black Mask, however, one step ahead, gets the Joker's own men to turn against him. Black mask ends up murdering one of them, and also kidnaps Taylor, which is where the story last left off._

_This is the second to last chapter so I really hope you all enjoy it. The number of reviews for the last chapter were the lowest I've almost ever received for this story… I'm a little worried that something is the matter with it. Does it need to be re-written… ? Feel free to let me know. In the mean time, I hope this one is ten times better. As always, your words are loved and appreciated. _

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Something wasn't right, Jacob could feel it.

The Joker had been gone a long time. What was he doing, and where was he taking Taylor?

Jacob pulled against his bindings, his arms straining against the rope that bound his wrists behind the metal chair. The knots were impossibly tight, but if he could just manage to slip one of his hands through—

"I wouldn't bother." Alex's voice floated from the other side of the room where he stood with his back against the wall, his good eye closed. Most of his weight had been distributed to his cane. He looked as if he were in pain, though he could've just been tired. Jacob thought that perhaps it was a mixture of both. He studied the older man with unconcealed anger as Alex lifted his head from the wall. "Joker can knot tighter than sailor," he informed. "You're wasting your time."

"What does he want with me?" Jacob demanded, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. "I am of no use to him."

Alex snorted. "Haven't you figured it out yet? You have weapons, and Joker's in need of them."

"If he thinks I'm going to—"

"Oh, you will," Alex interrupted. "One way or another, you _will_ get him what he wants." He paused, waiting until Jacob's gaze reached his own. "The girl's life depends on it."

Breathing hard through his nose, Jacob clenched his jaw and jerked forward in his chair. Alex met his furious gaze with a blank stare. With a frustrated shout, Jacob threw his head back and jerked his arms. Alex was right. The knots _were_ really tight.

His chest was still heaving when he calmed and let his head droop to his chest in defeat. His body was so tense that Alex could see the veins in Jacob's forearms.

"You'll do what is necessary to ensure her survival," the older man continued. "You don't want innocent blood on your hands."

"And what makes you so certain?" Jacob raised his head, his eyes bloodshot beneath the pallid fluorescent lights. "You think I care about her?" he spat. "Some little girl I don't even know?"

With a shake of his head, the corners of Alex's mouth curved into a grim smile. "I _know _you, Jacob. You're not fooling anyone, least of all yourself. You're a . . . a soldier, isn't that right?" Jacob seemed to visibly recoil at the word, and Alex knew he had hit home. "Soldiers," he continued, "are willing to die for their country in order to protect the innocent. And Taylor—she's the epitome of innocence . . . wouldn't you say?"

Jacob's mouth twitched. "I'm not a soldier anymore. I left that a long time ago."

"Perhaps," Alex mused. "I mean, physically, yes. But _mentally_ . . ." He let Jacob savor the word. "Why, I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Alex's words seemed to hang in the air long after he had spoken them, and Jacob knew the man was right. He wasn't fooling anybody. He was the good guy, always had been. He'd do anything for Taylor. She was innocent as Alex had said, she didn't deserve any of this. He knew he'd rather die than have her murdered for his refusal to cooperate.

But then he wondered if the Joker had it in him to kill Taylor. Maim her, yes. Jacob knew the Joker would do that in a heartbeat if he so felt the need. But murder? He'd seen how attached the Joker had gotten. Something dangerous was unfolding right before his very eyes and he felt powerless to stop it. He had seen an obvious change in the Joker's behavior. When he had first witnessed the two of them together, the Joker had been distant and cold. He had pushed Taylor away when she clung to him. Now it seemed as if he _wanted_ her near. He wanted her out of his way, yes, but not too far out of reach.

And so his question remained. Would the Joker really kill her if Jacob didn't give him what he wanted?

He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening. The Joker stepped in and closed it behind him with a bang, something of an odd expression etched across his features. He kept his gaze lowered and didn't meet anyone's eyes as he muttered to himself. Jacob couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Where oh _where_ did we leave off?" He pretended to ponder his question before spinning on his heel, facing Jacob. "Oh, _I_ remember now. _You_ were trying to play the good guy and _I _wasn't buying your_ bullshi-t_." His head lowered, and he stared at Jacob from beneath black-painted brows. "I think it's time for a change in topic."

"Yeah? Well maybe we can talk about you letting Taylor go."

The Joker laughed, genuinely amused. "Oh, _you_," he giggled. He patted Jacob's cheek with mocking tenderness, like how a mother would to her silly child. "Trying to play the _hero_," he grinned. "_Those _shoes have already been filled."

Frowning, Jacob's brows creased, not sure what he meant by that. If the Joker was referring to himself as the hero, then he was dead wrong.

"_Oh_," he started, feigning surprise. "You don't know who the _Batman_ is, do you?" He smiled crookedly. "You'd like him. You're cut from the same cloth, you and him. Damaged souls trying to save a damaged world." He rolled his eyes in a dramatic gesture and Jacob watched in disgust as his tongue snaked across garish, mangled red lips seconds after. He stepped closer to Jacob and leveled their gazes. "You wanna know something funny—about the world?" He gripped the back of Jacob's neck and stared off into the distance for a moment. Jacob could see the Joker's dark eyes moving, as if searching for the words he wanted to say. He turned back to Jacob and leveled their gazes. "You can't fix what's already _damaged_," he breathed. "You can repair it, you can . . . mend all the little tears and fill the holes with plaster and pave over _allll_ the little cracks . . . but everything. Breaks. Eventually." His voice dropped an octave on the last word and a shiver wracked the Joker's body. For a moment, he closed his eyes, envisioning it all. Jacob stared at the backs of the Joker's painted lids, disgusted. When he opened them again, his eyes were darker and yet somehow brighter than before. He looked _alive_.

"Yes, yes," he said, shaking his head fervently, searching Jacob's gaze, trying to make him understand. "Everything breaks. Nothing lasts forever. You can _fight_ to fix the flaws and you can picket in the streets to get the change you so _desperately_ desire . . . but in the end . . . _chaos _wins." The Joker's eyes were alive with darkness, and he looked as if he had been consumed by the very words he had just spoken. Anarchy flashed like fire in his very eyes. It was a fire, Jacob knew, that wouldn't be quenched.

"You're wrong. Justice wins in the end."

"Maybe in the _cinemas_." The Joker grimaced, nails digging harder into Jacob's neck. "This is real life, Jacob," he deadpanned. "Only fools fight for_ justice_. You can't fight the natural _order_ of things. You can't fight chaos without more . . ._ chaos_."

Jacob wrenched his neck out of the Joker's grasp with a snarl. His eyes were livid. "And so what would you have me do? Just give you what you want? Then what?"

"Then I bury you alive. And you'll be _kicking_ and _screaming_ but you'll die guilt-free because you know you'll have saved her life. Because you're the _good guy_."

Jacob contemplated the Joker's words. They had cornered him, Alex and the Joker both. They knew him inside and out; morally, mentally. The thought made him feel weak, as if they had dissected him and laid the contents of his brain scattered on the table, right out in the open for everyone to see.

But he couldn't help but think of all the people who would be hurt in the process if he gave the Joker access to the weapons and nuclear bombs. How many innocent souls would die because of it? Taylor was just one person; what about the other thousands the Joker might be planning to kill with those weapons?

Jacob shook his head, swallowing hard. "I won't do it," he said. His voice was deep, strong. He had made his decision. Confidently, he squared his shoulders and lifted his head. "I can't."

The Joker cocked his head to the side and stared at him from the corner of his eyes. A deep frown pulled at his mouth.

"Then I'll _make_ you." With a nod, he gestured to Alex behind him.

Alex left without another word. When the door shut behind him, the room fell silent. Jacob squirmed in his chair, trying to ease the tightness of the ropes biting into his wrists. The Joker, now behind him, was standing at the empty square table.

_Shit_. It made him nervous—not having the Joker in his line of sight, but he didn't dare crane his neck to see what the clown might be doing behind him. A part of him didn't want to know. He felt his body tensing when he heard the Joker let out a long, slow breath. Then, he heard the sound of objects being set upon the table with deliberate slowness. He knew that the Joker must have been pulling them from his jacket, because there wasn't anything else in the room.

Tight knots coiled themselves in his stomach, his joints and muscles painfully tight. Every nerve ending in his body felt rigid, as if he might come undone at the slightest sound.

It was a sensation he was sickeningly accustomed to. Iraq had forced him to face many of his fears, and it had also forced new ones upon him, fears he otherwise hadn't known existed. They were fears that made him shiver in the middle of the day despite the withering heat of the sun, fears that kept him awake during the night in the little hours of sleep he was given. He wanted to savor his rest, not lie in bed in utter terror, flinching at the slightest sound.

Still, behind him, the Joker did not make a sound.

That was until he took a switchblade and ran the tip of it along the smooth surface of the table.

Jacob knew exactly what he was doing then. The metal of his blade screeched against the metal surface, like that of a fork grating against a plate.

The Joker was laying his knives across the table, and he wanted Jacob to know it.

He tried not to shudder at the sudden realization that struck him.

The knives weren't for him.

They were for _Taylor_.

He opened his mouth to speak, to plead, to bargain, to say _anything _at this point—but he was cut short when the door burst open.

Alex stood in the doorway, and from the expression on his usually stoic face, Jacob knew that something was not right. He imagined the Joker's eyes boring into Alex's from behind him.

"Where is she?" the Joker demanded before Alex could get a word in.

"I checked everywhere—" he began, breathless.

Jacob watched the scene unfold with alert eyes, unbelieving of what he was hearing. He had never seen Alex, usually so expressionless and stiff, look so flustered.

"How did she get out?" the Joker growled.

"No," Alex shook his head, leaning on his cane as if he might collapse if he didn't. "There's forced entry on the door, and on the floor there's—"

The Joker had pushed past Alex before the elder man could even finish. He exited the room with an angry snarl, his mind racing as he climbed the steps to the top floor of the hotel. He couldn't be bothered to take an elevator. He needed to move, needed to feel that burning pain in his muscles to distract him from reality, even if it was just for a few moments.

At the top of the stairs, he pushed through the door and stalked towards the end of the hall. His heart, pulsing hard and fast, was pushing its way into his throat. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing out loud.

At the end of the hall, the signs of "forced entry" were indeed visible. Slipping his gloved hands into his pocket, he extracted a knife and clutched it close to his side as he entered. The room was wrecked.

The sheets from the beds had been stripped and lay piled on the floor. The bedside drawers were opened, their contents dumped, and the curtains were in shambles. With a quick glance at the TV, he noticed it had been smashed in as well.

It occurred to him then how much the room resembled the state of the apartment he had found Taylor in.

Quickly, he pushed the thought aside and entered the bathroom where the light bled from beneath the closed door.

Upon entering, he felt his nose wrinkle at the acute and overwhelming stench of copper. He tapped the door open farther with his foot only to find a body sprawled across the middle of the floor. Blood, like spilled paint, was splattered across the entire bathroom. Everything had been splashed in the dark, saccharine colors; everything _bled_. The Joker watched it drip down the walls in a maze of tangled veins.

Body parts—fingers, legs, and pieces of a scalp littered the floor of the bathtub. The once-white tiles were now slick and glistening with blood beneath the bright lights. Dark fingerprints streaked the edges of the bathtub, indicating that there had been a struggle. For once, the sight did nothing for the Joker. He only studied the scene with barely-concealed rage, his lips pressed in a thin, tight line.

He stepped into the rest of the bathroom with slowly, his long coat moving with him as it brushed against the backs of his knees. He stood over the disassembled body where only a torso and half a head remained, staring into the faceless visage of Anders. He licked his lips and studied the bloody, empty eye sockets. Only two feet away, he saw the eyeballs floating in the sink amidst a sea of bloodied water.

Somewhere behind him, Alex had entered to look upon the scene as well. He made no sound of discomfort, but the Joker knew that it was the most gruesome sight the old man had ever seen. Alex had seen a lot, working for the Joker for as long as he had, and yet somehow they both knew that this was the worst.

The Joker turned from the gruesome scene and looked into the mirror. On it, a message was written, dripping in fresh blood. The Joker grinned.

"He wants to _play_."

* * *

They put her in the trunk.

Damion was sick to his stomach. He felt uneasy about the whole thing, like he'd crossed some sort of line that shouldn't have been crossed.

He'd been a criminal practically since birth, had been doing drugs since he was nine, and knew every curse word and its slang counterparts by the age of five. This, though . . . this was like nothing he'd ever done before. He felt dirty and disgusting, vile; more so than he'd ever felt before. She was just a _girl_—no more than four years of age and he'd just duct-taped her mouth and thrown her into the trunk.

He pulled the arms of his jacket lower over his freezing hands. It was fucking cold and he'd been an ass and worn fingerless gloves. He cursed his own stupidity and the way his stomach lurched when he glanced once more at the closed trunk. _Fuck, of all times for me to get a conscience, I get one now._

His boots shuffled back through the snow and slush as he fumbled for his lighter, a cigarette trapped in between his chapped lips. He glanced up at the darkening charcoal sky and grimaced.

"What the fuck are you doing, Stick? Put that out. Boss will be here any second."

Impossibly tall and skinnier than a rail, "Stick" had been Damion's nickname since childhood. He had thought the name funny, once. Now he loathed the name and thought it childish. His size sometimes baffled him. He ate like a horse, a fact everyone knew, and yet still could never gain any weight. If it wasn't for his towering height, he knew people would've treated him with a lot less respect than they did.

"I don't give a fuck," Damion mumbled around his cigarette as his lighter came to life. He held it to his mouth and let out a sigh of sweet relief as the taste of nicotine filled his throat. He let out a slow breath and watched the smoke curl around the winter air like a ghost.

Reed sniffled and brought up his arm to wipe the snot from his nose. "Shit man, it's cold."

Damion ignored the comment and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his long trench as he stared at his snow-covered boots. "Who is she?"

"Who?" Reed replied. He kept moving his hands, tapping them against his side or folding them across his chest. It annoyed Damion that he wouldn't stop fidgeting.

He nodded towards the back of the vehicle. "The girl in the trunk. Who is she?"

"Hell if I know, man. Boss don't tell me anything."

Damion leaned against the side of the car and took a long drag, studying his companion. Reed was of average height, yet was significantly bigger than him and had enough muscle to pack quite a punch. He was older as well, but Damion thought him dumber than a fish. Reed was ignorant and asked too many questions.

Asking questions was important, to an extent, but only when your own survival depended on it. Damion knew when it was okay to ask questions and when he just needed to sit down and shut up. Reed's ego was bigger than his britches allowed, a truth that would someday land him in serious trouble. Damion doubted he would last through the week. Black Mask went through thugs faster than whores went through clients.

Through the snow, Damion noticed two figures approaching. He straightened against the car and dropped his cigarette into the snow.

He watched as Garrett trudged closer with Black Mask following not far behind. Garrett was only a few years older than Damion but was built like Damion wished he was. He was tall with long, lean muscles and could pull a knife on someone faster than the eye could see. His messy brown hair often hid his eyes, and even though his voice was a low, rumbling timbre that had the ability to frighten most young women, he rarely spoke. He didn't say anything as he opened the driver's side door and got in.

Damion and Reed exchanged glances but waited for Black Mask before getting in the car.

"Where's Wilks?" Reed frowned as the dark figured approached.

Black Mask's pistol was visible beneath his suit and the metal lay as a cool reminder against his side. There in the stillness, with the white snow and the faded brick building as his backdrop, Damion thought he looked rather surreal. He'd been working for Black Mask longer than most, yet he still felt like pissing himself whenever the man's eyes met his.

Those same eyes rolled exasperatedly in their fleshless sockets. "He got left behind," was his reply. The deep, clear-cut precision of his voice felt like shards of glass and the blade of a knife. Damion felt a shiver crawling down his spine, but blamed it on the cold.

"Why?"

Black Mask paused, cocking his head. Damion watched as the skull-like figure addressed Reed with dark impatience. "He was asking too many questions," he said. He pulled back his suit to reveal the gun at his hip. "Perhaps you're in the mood to do the same?"

Reed shook his head, putting his hands up as if to apologize.

Black Mask's barred his teeth. "I thought not."

The monster turned to face Damion then, and Damion quickly pulled open the back door and held it open for him. He could hear Taylor crying in the trunk. Black Mask, though, didn't even seem to acknowledge the sound, even as her little hands beat against the walls. He slid to the far side and Damion got in after him as Reed sunk into the passenger seat.

"Go," he ordered to Garrett. He leaned back against the leather seat and sighed. Damion stole a sideways glance at him, thinking that, had Black Mask had actual eyelids, he would have closed them just then to rest.

It made him wonder what it felt like to have your eyes always open, never closed. It dawned on him then, how uncomfortable it would be. You could never sleep, could never close your eyes if scared, and never blink back tears. How odd would it be, to see everything in the world, with no protection, no possible escape other than your own hands to shield your eyes. Damion almost felt sorry for him.

He shifted in his seat and brushed the melted remnants of snow off his thighs. His jeans were soaked. As Taylor's cries sounded from the trunk, he averted his gaze to the window and wondered when he had gotten so damn sympathetic.

Their destination, Gotham Light & Power, lay just up ahead over the hill. It was only a short ride from the city, and for that Damion was thankful. The plant provided power and electricity throughout the entire city. While the main headquarters was stationed at Wayne Towers, in the middle of Gotham, the power plant served as the framework. It was a large, boxy warehouse with endless corridors and few windows. Damion stared at the giant smokestacks in the distance where black smoke was pouring from the large, concrete cylinders, disappearing within the dark clouds.

In the front seat, Garrett addressed Black Mask. The low timbre of his voice seemed to settle over the car like a plague. "He's here. Says he's been waiting for two hours."

Black Mask laughed. "Tell him I don't tolerate impatience from _two-faced liars_." He settled back into his seat and tapped his long, thin fingers against his leg. "We get there when we get there."

With his phone, Garrett relayed the message and then snapped it shut, placing it in his jacket pocket. "Whatever you say."

From the corner of his eye, Damion watched as Black Mask tongued at his teeth through a lipless mouth. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen.

They drove along the long, single-lane gravel drive for five minutes before finally arriving in front of the massive building. The car stopped just outside the tall, metal fence, and it took only seconds for the gate to open on its own accord. Damion stared at the barbed wires atop the fence as they drove past. _No one's going to get past those things. _

Snow crunched beneath the tires as the car pulled to a stop. As everyone got out, their cars doors slammed, echoing in the eerie silence.

Reed's eyes roamed the empty farmland that surrounded them, covered in snow. There was an electric windmill about two miles to the left, barely visible through the white flurries. "It's real quiet out here."

Damion smirked. "Yeah, until you open that big mouth of yours."

He stole a glance at Black Mask and noticed him snicker. For a moment, he let himself swell with pride.

Reed was right though, it was quiet, and the silence was nothing if not unnerving. He pulled his black beanie lower over his forehead. _And fucking cold, too._

Damion was following behind Black Mask when the man suddenly turned on him and grabbed him by the lapels of his trench coat. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the black, charred skull. Up close, he could see the burnt, rotting flesh. _No amount of cologne can hide the smell of death, _Damion thought. When the wind blew, ashes were stripped from the underside of Black Mask's jaw and were scattered in the flurries of snow. Damion watched them flutter away, both horrified and fascinated.

Black Mask's visage did not change. "Get the girl."

Damion obeyed immediately. As he neared the trunk, his boots felt heavier with each step, as if they were lined with lead. He didn't want to open the trunk and see her face. He had been the one to put her there, kicking and screaming as she was. _He_ had forced the gag over her mouth as she cried and begged for him to stop. Fuck, she was just a little _girl_.

_Why the hell I am _doing _this?_

The answer, he knew, was money. The realization hit him like a stack of bricks.

He had never in his life felt so cheap before; like some kind of prostitute or dirty whore. He wasn't a criminal because he _liked_ being a criminal, he was a criminal because he had been _born_ a criminal. At first it had been a means of escape, a way to make ends meet when the going got tough and the bills began stacking up.

Now, though, it was his _only_ escape. At the time, it had looked so appealing, falling down the rabbit hole. It was so easy, he mused, letting himself get sucked into a world of killing, stealing, and drugs. What he didn't realize, though, was once you were in, you couldn't get out.

It was damn near impossible, trying to start over and retrace your steps back to your old life. He often thought about his family; his ailing mother, his pregnant sixteen year-old sister, his incarcerated father, and his favorite Uncle Benny. What had become of them? Sometimes when he was feeling reflective he wondered what they would think about him and the choices he had made.

But he couldn't go back. He thought about it, pictured the different scenarios in his mind, but they all somehow managed to turn out the same. In one scenario, he imagined himself seated at the dinner table with his family surrounding him, chatting as they passed the dishes around the table and scooped mashed potatoes and poured gravy onto their plates. In the hazy picture of his mind, he would sit there, silent, as the food was passed around him. To his left, at the seat she always sat at, was his mother, smiling sweetly as she urged him to try the ham she had cooked. Damion, though, was too preoccupied with keeping his hands tucked in his lap beneath the shadow of the tablecloth. The guilt of his crimes weighed heavily over his shoulders, and he felt ashamed to let his bloodstained, murderous hands be seen by the eyes of his family.

But that had been just been a dream. In truth, Damion hadn't felt guilty about anything in a really long time.

At least until today.

Quickly, he pulled open the trunk, desperate to get this mess over with. The little girl blinked back tears as she stared up at him, blinded by the light after having been kept in the darkness for so long. Her green eyes were brimming with tears, her cheeks wet and flushed with pink. He looked down further to notice that her dress was wet, too, and realized she had pissed herself. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly sorry.

"Come on," he urged. He made to reach for her, thinking she would come willingly, but she shook her head and shied away further into the trunk, whimpering behind the gag in her mouth. He tongued at the metal ring on his lower lip—a habit of his when he was uneasy—and tried again. "Come on, I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her. He reached for her again and managed to pull her into his arms. Her cry was muffled by her gag and started to sob. Her small body shook uncontrollably as he shut the trunk. He ran a hand across her back, hoping it would comfort her, but she only tensed beneath his touch and tried to squirm away.

Up ahead, Black Mask and Reed were waiting by the door where Garrett was typing a code into the keypad. As Damion neared, his eyes strayed towards the camera that was watching them from above. Quickly, he averted his eyes. He hated cameras.

The door opened and the four men stepped inside, Black Mask taking the lead and pushing past everyone else. He always walked so confidently, Damion thought, like he owned the room and everything in it.

"Where is he?" Black Mask shouted, his voice echoing all the way to the ceiling of the giant warehouse.

The girl in his arms trembled at the sound of his booming voice, and she buried her head into the crook of Damion's neck. His face remained stoic as he held her, waiting for further instruction.

He watched as Garrett nodded to the guy in the control room as they passed. He had seen the guy around before—briefly—but had never spoken to him in person. He wasn't here to make friends, and chances were, the guy probably wasn't going to last long anyway.

Someone appeared from behind a large electrical board to answer Black Mask's question, but all Damion could catch were the words "car" and "still waiting."

"Well bring him in!" Black Mask said, exasperated. "Don't want to keep the bastard waiting any longer than he already has." He paused in the middle of the warehouse, checking his wrist for the time. "You," he said, looking up and pointing at Damion. "C'mere."

All eyes were on Damion as he held the trembling girl in his arms and followed Black Mask into a small, back room. A light was flicked on, and Taylor cautiously lifted her head to look around. When she saw Damion closing the door, she squirmed in his arms and made a sound of distress.

"Hey, calm down," he said gently. He held her tighter and let the door close all the way. When he turned, it was to find Black Mask staring out the window. It was getting dark out, but the snow was relentless and continued to fall.

Taylor craned her neck to see too, but when she caught sight of the black skull, she began sobbing violently. Damion struggled to keep her in his arms, but she would not stop thrashing.

Even without turning around, Black Mask knew what was happening. "Put her on the table."

With Taylor still crying, he wrestled with her to calm down, frowning at his boss's words. "What?" he repeated stupidly.

"I _said_ put her on the table. You have _ears_," he said through gritted teeth, "if you don't start using them I will fucking cut them off."

Damion narrowed his eyes—the only irritated display of emotion he was brave enough to make with Black Mask's back still facing him—and lifted Taylor onto the table.

This time, she did not want to let go of him. She clung to his jacket with desperation and shook her head. "Hey, it's alright," he whispered, peeling her fingers off one by one from his coat. Something like guilt weighed in the back of his mind. She didn't deserve to be lied to. Black Mask was probably going to gut her like a fish right where she sat. _At least then she'll be dead._

Garrett, Damion thought, had been perhaps less lucky. His whole left arm had been severed, from the elbow downwards, and in its place was attached an artificial limb. It was a secret that was usually kept well-hidden behind long-sleeved t-shirts or heavy jackets, but Damion had once caught site of the thin, metal appendages that were his fingers when Garrett had casually removed his glove. Rumors had circulated then, as they always did. Garrett had caught Black Mask on a bad day, Garrett had fucked up an assignment, Garrett had taken more than his share—nobody knew for sure what had _really_ happened—nobody but Damion. Garrett had told him the story as a warning, and it had been a grisly one at that. He had barely escaped with his life, he'd said. Afterwards, Damion promised himself he'd never challenge authority, least of all Black Mask's.

He stared into Taylor's tear-stained eyes as she stared back up at him, hoping he would save her. He had never felt so torn. He thought maybe he should help her, to try to put a stop to what Black Mask was about to do—whatever it was—but in the end he favored his own survival over hers. He felt ashamed of it, but it was the cold, hard truth.

He just wished she'd stop fucking _looking_ at him like that, like he was going to help her when he wasn't. "Cut it out," he said under her breath. He shook his head 'no' and then watched as the girl began to cry once more. Her gaze fell to her lap and her shoulders began to heave with the force of her sobs.

Black Mask turned at the noise, grinning like the devil himself. "Damion, you're making our special guest cry," he said with the least bit of sympathy. He began rolling up the sleeves of his jacket then, pushing them to his elbows. "Now get out."

Damion hesitated, looking once at the little girl, then at Black Mask who was preoccupied with cuffing his suit to perfection.

His hesitation lasted a moment too long.

Faster than he ever could have expected, Damion was suddenly struck by a cold, sharp object. He stumbled backwards and looked down to find a blade wedged in his upper arm. His shocked eyes rose to meet Black Mask's, and a long silence settled over the room.

_He fucking knifed me. _The sound ofTaylor's gasp covered Damion's own as he ripped the knife out. The blade, sticky with his own blood, shone in the dim overhead lighting.

"Get _out_!"

Damion didn't hesitate this time. He let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter and, cradling his arm, exited the room in haste.

In the silence that followed, Taylor sat trembling on the table with her head bowed, horrified by what she had just witnessed. She was fully aware that Black Mask stood not too far from behind her, and the very thought made her want to puke. She glanced down at the floor, but it felt like a million miles away. She did not want to jump, as much as she desperately wished to get away, and she dared not remove her gag.

When Black Mask's face suddenly flooded her peripheral vision, she whimpered and turned her head.

"Hey, hey," he murmured. He stood behind her, bent over the small space of table with his face hovering near her ear. He brushed back a strand of her hair and grinned when he felt her flinch. "What's the Joker doing with a little thing like _you_?" he whispered. His breath tickled the strands of her hair and ghosted across her neck, and it was all Taylor could do not to scream. She wanted to scoot away from him, but her body felt like a deadweight, her joints stiff and immobile with shock.

She whimpered in response to his question, and Black Mask growled, slamming his fist onto the table and making her jump in fright. He quickly moved around the object to stand in front of her now; tall and dark and imposing.

"Look at me when I'm _talking_ to you," he said lowly. He was relatively calm—for the moment—but Taylor could sense the warning in his voice. She did not want to see him angry. Not again.

And yet, she could not bring herself to look at the monster who loomed before her. He was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. When she had first seen the Joker, she had been more curious than afraid. And while he did frighten her, she knew, at least, that he had a small shred of decency. Black Mask, on the other hand, was terrifying. She had watched, helpless, as he so ferociously murdered Wilks in the bathroom of the hotel, right before her very eyes. It was worse even than when the Joker had made her kill Anders. She trusted Mr. J, deep down she _had_ to. But Black Mask was unpredictable, like a wild animal let loose from its cage.

He stood before her now as a real living corpse, and she could feel herself crumbling beneath his presence. She shook her head 'no' as tears spilled onto her cheeks as she clenched her eyes shut, bowing her head into the crook of her shoulder.

She jumped when Black Mask's hands were suddenly on either side of her. He leaned forward to be level with her face and gripped her chin, pulling it towards him. Stubbornly, she kept her eyes shut.

"I'm getting impatient," he whispered against her ear. He was so close Taylor could feel the scorched, dead flesh of his skin against her cheek. He pulled back to stare at her. "Open your eyes, little girl." Without warning, there was a cold pressure against her cheek, and Taylor was shocked into rigidness. She was all but too familiar with the feel of a knife.

She tensed as the blade traced an invisible pattern along her skin and teased the edges of her eye. "_Open your eyes or I will open them for you_." His threat hung around her like a veil, and she was reminded of the way he had carved out Wilks's own eyes and tossed them so carelessly into the sink, as if they had merely been toy marbles. "_I don't like double-crossers_," he'd growled. She sobbed aloud at the memory, but reluctantly opened her eyes.

When she met his gaze, he grinned even wider, and cupped her chin in his hand to ensure that she would not look away. "Now there's a good girl." He brushed back a strand of hair from her eyes with his blade, and she flinched away from the touch, eyes wide. She wanted to scream, to run, to cry—but looking at him made her heard skip a thousand beats and all at once she was breathless and unable to even move. He leaned in close, invading her personal space as Taylor tried hard not to scream. The monster's charred, black face made her skin crawl. "You're terrified of me, aren't you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't _quite_ say that," a voice from behind him said.

Black Mask paused, a slow grin tugging at his mouth where all of his teeth were already barred. Taylor's eyes widened at the familiar voice, but she didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened. Black Mask did not turn to face the man at the door, and instead, kept his eyes on Taylor.

"So _good _of you to show up. I was starting to think you didn't care about your little. . . _thing_, here," he said of Taylor, roughly releasing her chin. Finally, he turned to face the Joker. "So what is she? Long-lost daughter? Cousin, twice-removed? Your personal fuck—"

"You know," the Joker interrupted. "You're really starting to _bore_ me with all of these _questions_." Tilting his head, he stared at Black Mask almost curiously. He let his eyes roam towards Taylor where she met his gaze with a desperate plea and whimpered. He ignored her and as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. Black Mask noticed his men standing just outside the door, which meant that had been stripped of his weapons before entering. "You're a lot less . . . _intimidating_ than I imagined," the Joker said flippantly. Sauntering to the other side of the room, he took a seat in the swivel chair and propped his legs onto the table, crossing them at the ankle.

Taylor wanted to keep him in her line of vision, but she didn't dare turn her back to Black Mask. The Joker noticed this, and narrowed his eyes.

"Am I?" Black Mask laughed, genuinely amused. He had the Joker in the palm of his hand, now. He let his eyes slowly wander up the Joker's frame until he reached his eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen the clown in person. "Your name suits you."

The Joker smirked knowingly and cocked his head. "Funny. So does yours."

Black Mask looked away at the comment, meeting Taylor's eyes instead. "The _Joker_ likes to make a lot of _jokes_, doesn't he, sweetie?" He traced the tip of his knife along her jaw. "I wonder if he'd _joke _about me cutting up your pretty little face here. Do you think he'd find that _funny_?" He looked at the Joker from beneath his brow bone to gauge his reaction."Or perhaps I'll just shoot you."

With furtiveness that even the Joker had not anticipated, a gun suddenly appeared and had been pressed beneath Taylor's chin, replacing knife. From behind her, the Joker watched as Taylor's shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. She gasped when Black Mask's other hand tangled in her hair and gripped her scalp, ripping her forward so her face was pressed against his chest.

The Joker, ever so calm, leaned back in his seat and casually folded his hands behind his head. "Come now," he grinned, "why don't you pick on somebody your own size . . . or at least someone your own _age-uh_."

By lieu of responding, the only noise was the sound of Black Mask's gun making an audible _click_.

The Joker, not to be deterred, only frowned. "You have the girl, and you have _me_," he said, his voice pitched high, "so just _kill_ me already and get it over with." He paused, letting his words sink in. "If this is your way of trying to torture me before you kill us both, you should know that it won't wor_k_. Perhaps you ah, hadn't notice_d_, but I _like _watching people die." He dropped his hands and folded them in his lap. "She is no exception."

"Perhaps not," Black Mask mused. He lowered the gun as Taylor visibly shuddered. "But I don't want to kill her," he replied after a considerable amount of silence. His dark eyes searched the Joker's. "And I don't want to kill you."

The Joker's brows rose in exaggeration. "_No_?" he said with mock surprise, leaning forward in his chair.

"No," a voice from the door suddenly replied. Stunned, the Joker turned. Harvey Dent stared back at him. "_But I do_."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Harvey Dent did not even flinch when the Joker's loud, cackling laughter abruptly ruined the silence. The clown was doubled over in his chair, clutching his stomach as he wheezed for breath.

Black Mask rolled his eyes and looked to Harvey impatiently, but Harvey only stared at the Joker, half of his face forever twisted into that charred, angry snarl. And he _was_ angry, more so than he had ever been before. But it wouldn't be for much longer. The taste of revenge was sweet on his tongue, and he couldn't wait to fully savor it in all of its glory. After years of hiding—trying to cope with the loss of the woman he had one day hoped to marry—he was ready. He was ready to exact revenge on the man who had single-handedly destroyed his political career, his love for Rachel Dawes, and permanently disfigured his face beyond any chance for a decent recovery. Surgery would do nothing. He was a living, breathing monster now. There was no going back; only sometimes, in the sanctity of his mind, if Two-Face allowed such reprieves into the other conscious of his lost soul.

"Isn't this a _twist_," the Joker grinned, completely giddy, like a child who had done something bad and gotten away with it. He rocked forward in his chair a bit, hands clasped on the armrests, and whispered conspiratorially to Harvey. "The afterlife not what you expected? I've heard it's a bit hot down there."

"You would know."

"_Ooho_," the Joker grinned. "Let's place nice, Harvey." He cocked his head and stared. "So tell me everything. Batman suddenly have a change of heart?" he asked, in regards to Harvey supposedly being murdered by the caped crusader.

Harvey narrowed his one good eye. "Batman thinks I'm dead. Just like you did."

"Ooh, then this really _is_ a surprise." The Joker looked to Black Mask, then to Harvey again. He could hardly believe the turn of events. It was so perfect, the two of them conspiring together to kill him. "I have to tell you I'm flattered, really. I don't think anyone's ever wanted to kill me as much as you," he told Harvey. "Except for maybe Rachel." The Joker downcast his eyes, inspecting the blood under his nails as if it were simply dirt. "After she was done _begging_ for her life."

The sound of a gun being cocked reverberated through the room. The Joker looked up only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. His eyes traveled to meet Harvey's.

Taylor, who had otherwise remained silent—too scared even to breathe—gasped so loudly that everyone turned to look at her. "No!" she cried. She put her hands to her face and shook her head, crying. "Don't! Don't do it. Please." She was sobbing, looking at Harvey as tears streamed down her face, begging him not to kill the only person besides her mother that she had ever cared for.

Harvey did not lower his gun, however, and Taylor seemed adamant to stop him. She attempted to jump down from the table she had been set on, but Black Mask grabbed her by her neck and forced her back even as she choked.

"She is so fond of you," Black Mask remarked with a glint in his eyes, even as his large hand encircled Taylor's neck with a bruising grip. He could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his touch, and he fought hard not to crush her neck, even if he longed to hear the audible sound of bones snapping.

From the other side of the table, the Joker cocked his head at her, fascinated that she was so desperately trying to protect him. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise, considering how utterly dependent she had become of him, but it was amusing to picture. Taylor, the most innocent soul, the most naïve, heartfelt little girl in Gotham wanted to save _him_. He couldn't help but think that if she really knew what was good for her, she would let Harvey shoot him so he could burn for eternity with everybody else.

Hell. He considered it. It wasn't such a far-cry from Gotham, actually.

"Shoot me," he said, much to Taylor's horror. He looked up at Harvey from beneath his brows. "Do it. I _want_ you to."

Harvey's finger rested against the trigger, but he did not pull. It was tempting, imagining bits of the Joker's brain splattering against the wall, seeing that red, gaping hole in the center of that white, greasepaint forehead. But he couldn't. Slowly, he managed to lower the gun.

"Shooting you would be too easy."

The Joker straightened, putting on a face of mock seriousness. "You're right. Absolutely." He held out his hands in front of him, wrists together. "Turn me into the cops. Send me to Arkham with all the _craz-ies."_ Leaning forward slightly, he grinned, whispering. "Send me to Arkham," he repeated again, his eyes dark. "_Watch me escape_."

Without warning, Harvey lunged forward, grabbing the Joker by his collar and pulling him up out of the chair. The Joker giggled, lifting up his chin so Harvey wouldn't strangle him.

Up close, he could better see the exposed muscles of Harvey's half-face, the loose tendons, the black, scorched flesh—or what little of it was left, at least. He watched Harvey's eyeball roll loosely around its socket, hoping that it might fall out and he could crush it with his shoe. He imagined the sound it would make and his grin widened.

"Yeah, that's right," Harvey said through gritted teeth. "Get a good look. _Look_ at what you've done to me."

"Look," the Joker repeated, eyes briefly darting to the ceiling. "_Which side_?"

With a snarl, Harvey shoved the Joker away, his back slamming into the wall. He groaned at the pain, missing it, needing it, even as Harvey pulled out his gun for a second time. "On second thought . . ."

The gun was cocked, Harvey's finger pressed the trigger—

"Aren't you going to flip a coin?" the Joker interrupted, head against the wall, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

He smirked. "You don't deserve a second chance."

As Harvey was about to pull the trigger, Black Mask, who had been watching attentively—suddenly stepped forward with such speed that even the Joker hadn't seen him coming—and hit Harvey over the head with his gun. A shot fired from Harvey's own gun out of reflex, narrowly missing the Joker's foot, as Two-Face slumped to the ground, out cold.

The Joker raised a curious brow in Black Mask's direction as the smoke from the barrel settled. "If you're expecting a thank you—"

"Get up." Black Mask sighed. As the Joker's brows rose even further, Black Mask gestured with his gun impatiently towards Harvey. "He's a bit melodramatic, wouldn't you say?"

For a second time in only a matter of two days, the Joker felt viscously duped again. His face, however, remained the perfect mask, and even if he was surprised on the inside, it didn't show. He pulled himself off the floor and gingerly dusted off his coat. "So, what, you want to kill me yourself, hm?" Slowly the Joker was beginning to put the pieces together—or so he thought. "You let Harvey get on your good side by promising him that he gets to kill me. He lets off a little steam, talks about revenge and chance and blah blah blah . . . and then you off him so you can have the honor of killing me yourself." The Joker stepped back and spread his arms wide, the perfect target. "Go on then. Shoot me. I'm right here." He licked his lips, tasting greasepaint. "I'll even step closer if you've got a bad aim," he offered.

Black Mask chortled, a low, deep sound that made the hairs on Taylor's arms stand on end. "I've got _perfect_ aim," he said, tucking the gun back into his jacket.

From the table, Taylor watched, knowing that something wasn't right. She sat, trembling, as Black Mask kicked Harvey's gun to the other side of the room where it slid across the floor and hit the door. He wasn't taking any chances, not with the Joker.

"You think you understand everything," Black Mask began, moving closer, tucking his gun in the recesses of his jacket so he could freely gesture with his hands. "But you aren't really looking at the big picture. I'm disappointed, Joker."

The room fell silent, save for the wind rattling the panes of the window. It had stopped snowing, and was falling dark. "Then what is the big picture?" the Joker inquired lowly. There was no laughter in his voice, only dark, vicious intent shining in his eyes. He realized suddenly he wanted to rip this fucker's black throat right open, watch the blood seep onto the concrete floor, maybe smash in his skull with his foot until it was nothing but ashes and dust.

"The big picture is you and I."

The Joker smirked, his eyes glittering. "Roman, I didn't realize you were such a _romantic_. Lusting after me all this time, were you?"

Black Mask ignored his taunt, stepping even closer. "I meant what I said, about not wanting to kill you."

The Joker tongued at his lower lip. "Then please do enlighten me on what it is that you _want_."

"Look at us, Joker!" he bellowed suddenly. "We're two of the most powerful men in this city, you know that." The Joker was silent as Black Mask approached, baring all of his teeth in that shit-eating grin. "Imagine what we can do together. We can rule the city, you and I. Gotham could be _ours_. Envision the _possibilities_."

The possibilities. Oh, he could envision them alright. But Black Mask was not going to be a part of it. Cocking his head, the Joker contemplated the other's words, sucking in his cheeks in thought. "You want to join sides," he said matter-of-factly.

"This isn't about taking sides, Joker. This is about taking _Gotham_. This is about control, about taking a city that's rightfully ours for the taking. It's ruined and corrupt. You know that better than anyone. We can crush Batman. Take him down a notch like he deserves. We could _kill _him."

Briefly the Joker's eyes wandered towards Taylor. She was watching the two of them with terror, still seated on the table with her legs dangling over the side. He returned his gaze. "And if I refuse?"

Suddenly Black Mask's hands were on him, pushing him into the wall and gripping his neck with bruising intensity. "Why would you do something like that?"

The Joker grinned, resting his head back against the wall. "Because I think it's _you _who doesn't get the big picture here." He pressed an accusing finger into the lapel of Black Mask's coat. "You think we want the same things," he said in a sing-song voice, giggling. Then, suddenly, his voice lowered, and his eyes grew dark. "But. We. Don't."

Black Mask straightened, and if his features could have changed, the Joker was sure they would have. As it was, he was still grinning, even though his eyes had grown a shade darker. His shoulders tensed as well. "If you're not with me," he said, "then by definition you're _against_ me." His grip around the Joker's neck tightened, and he cruelly slammed the clown's head back against the concrete wall. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

When the Joker's head hit the wall, Taylor screamed, sliding off the table and racing for the door.

Black Mask, momentarily distracted, looked towards her, remembering that he had kicked the gun in that direction. He realized too late that Taylor hadn't meant to grab it, and simply wanted to escape from the room. He stiffened when he suddenly felt the Joker's blade against his neck.

"Roman, Roman, _Roman_," he began dramatically as Taylor cowered by the door, whimpering in helpless frustration because it was too heavy for her to open. The Joker lowered his head so he was looking at Black Mask from beneath his brows. "_You wanna know how I got these scars_?"

Before Black Mask could utter a response, shouts suddenly sounded from the other side of the door, and the loud bang of a gunshot pierced through the warehouse. The Joker could feel his heart quicken. _What if he's here?_ His tongue swept over his lips and he pushed back his hair with trembling, excited hands. It had been so long since they'd seen each other. . . .

Shoving Black Mask away with a grunt, the man went stumbling backwards as the Joker cracked his neck and strode towards the door, knife in hand. Taylor was pushed aside with little regard, even as she tried to reach out to him and called his name.

"Mr. J—!"

As the Joker wrenched the door open, the sound of gunfire and shouts was a welcome assault to his ears, and he grinned, also reaching quickly for Harvey's gun that still lay just inside the door, where Black Mask had kicked it.

It was Harvey's small legion of men against Black Mask's, it seemed, and the Joker couldn't help but roll his eyes. _Can't everyone just get along for five minutes?_

Then, suddenly, the lights began to flicker.

The Joker looked up, uninterested in the brawl around him as hot, electric sparks from the metal platform above crackled and fissured in random spurts. With alarming speed, it began happening throughout the entire warehouse, one bank of lights shutting off one right after the other.

Everyone stopped to watch, eyes wide with confusion, as a cold darkness enveloped the room. Silence had fallen over the warehouse now that nobody could see, and the sudden stillness was so deafening it was practically ear-shattering.

For a moment, no one knew what to do. Somewhere behind him, Taylor was breathing hard and fast, but she was interrupted by the familiar sound of sirens in the distance.

One, lone siren sounded at first, but others soon followed until the entire city had erupted into a horrifying chorus of wailing sirens.

With the main power supply cut, that meant the entire city was cloaked in darkness. The police would be arriving soon to investigate the cause.

The Joker smiled and pocketed the gun and his knife, suddenly reaching for Taylor and stifling her sharp cry by placing his hand over her mouth. "_Change of plans_," he whispered to her, giggling to himself as she trembled in his arms.

Despite the darkness, he knew exactly where he was going as he maneuvered through the warehouse.

The men were starting to shout again, confused and angry at the turn of events, but it was cut short at the sound of Black Mask's angry, booming voice.

"_Find him_!" he shouted. "I'm going to give that fucker something to smile about. He'll be grinning all the way to the back of his head when I'm done with him!" Bullet shells clinked the floor and the Joker knew Black Mask had just reloaded his gun.

_This is about to get fun_.

He was grinning when he reached the stairs. "I don't wanna go down here," Taylor cried into his chest when she realized they were descending a set of stairs.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

In the darkness, she nodded. "_Please_."

The Joker smiled, ignoring her plea. "You should be. There are monsters down here."

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and gripped him tight, too scared to speak. But the Joker didn't slow his pace. He knew they needed to get out, and fast. At the bottom of the stairs, they were greeted with a long and narrow corridor and, at the end of it, a hint of outside light.

When he reached the double doors—with only two small squares cut out of the top for windows to let in the light—he punched in the proper code and the door was unlocked.

Outside, the cold hit him like a thousand ton of bricks, the wind whipping at his face, accompanied with violent swirls of snow. He could hardly see two feet in front of him, but he had no time to waste.

Just around the corner, at the back of the warehouse, a car sat waiting for him, just as he had been expecting. Wrenching the door open, he deposited Taylor into the backseat and shut the door before she could ask any questions.

It was only a second later when he felt the bullet rip through his flesh.

A pellet, barely the size of his thumb, just narrowly grazed his side, slicing through his jacket, vest, and undershirt, taking with it a sizable chunk of his flesh. Taylor screamed as the Joker fell back against the car, momentarily dazed.

She shrank back into her seat, horrified, as the Joker wheezed out a breathless laugh, touching his side and coming back with bloodied gloves. "He missed."

Another gunshot fired, this time hitting the passenger door, and the Joker didn't waste another second. He rounded the front of the car and quickly slipped into the driver's seat, starting the car as the engine revved to life. Another shot fired, hitting the back window and sending spider-webbed cracks across the glass.

Taylor didn't do anything but hold on for her life as the tires squealed against the ice-slicked pavement and car slid sideways before straightening itself. As blood trickled down his side, the Joker could hear himself laughing, even as Taylor began to cry in the backseat from the floor where she had ducked for cover.

The snow was getting heavier by the second, and if it weren't for the crunch of rocks beneath the gravel drive, the Joker wouldn't have been able to tell if he was even on the road. As it was, he couldn't see a thing. All he knew was that he needed to get away and _fast_. There wasn't much time left.

The gunshots had ceased now that he was out of range and driving quickly away, but only moments later, something suddenly slammed into the car head-on with enough impact to cause the airbags to deploy. They were brought to a crushing and startling halt.

He thought at first that he'd hit a tree, but he knew from the sound of metal on metal that he'd collided with another car. The Joker groaned, his head lolling back against the seat until a sharp intrusion in his neck caused him to pause. He gritted his teeth together, pulling out a shard of glass from his neck. Steam poured from the hood of the car, but it was snowing so hard he couldn't even see it. Minutes passed before he was able to able to move. Slowly, he twisted in his seat behind him to see Taylor sprawled across the floor, unconscious, with a large welt across her forehead.

He groaned again, opening the door only to be assaulted by a flurry of snow. He slid out of the car with a gruntand landed in the snow on his hands and knees, watching it become tainted with his blood.

Then, he paused.

He could feel _those _eyes on him even before he looked up. His hands clenched at his sides almost instinctively, and as he raised his head, loose tendrils of hair curling in the wind around him, none other than Batman stood before him, looking down at him with those dark, hard eyes. The Joker's smile stretched from ear to ear as he slowly, carefully rose, his hand clutched at his side at an odd angle, cradling his bloody wound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it was the tumbler that had collided with the car, even though the huge, tank-like vehicle was still very much in tact.

"You just couldn't stay away," he said, his words nearly lost in the winter storm around them. "Missed me, did you?"

"How did you escape?" Batman groveled in that all-too familiar voice.

"A little slow on the uptake, aren't ya? That was four _months _ago. Where have you _been_?" The Joker held back a wince at the sudden, sharp pain in his side, but didn't outwardly show it. "No matter. The important thing is that you're here, and Harvey's alive."

_That _got Batman's attention. The dark figure, cloaked in all black stepped closer, his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides. His gauntlets seemed to slice at the very snow around him. "What did you say?"

The Joker smiled. "Your precious White Knight is right in there," the Joker gestured to the power plant. "But things are going to be _different_ this go around. Y'see, last time," he wheezed, partially bent at the waist so he could better breathe, "I left you with a choi_ce_. Who gets to be save_d_. But then . . . then I thought, what gives _you_ the right to play _God_ with other people's lives?"

"And you?" Batman challenged. "What gives you the right?"

"I don't _have _one. Ikill people out in the open. And you," the Joker interrupted himself with a raucous laugh, pointing an accusing finger at his nemesis, "you hide behind a mask and call it justice!" Batman only stared at him with that silent resistance the Joker so longed to break. "So," he started again, licking his chapped, red lips, "I decided to make things a bit easier this time, because people are going to die, and this time you won't be able to save them."

"Why should I believe you? I watched Harvey die, I—"

"—Killed him? Did you?" he narrowed his eyes. "Did you _really_? Is there blood on your hands?" he wondered, letting his gaze wander for a moment before he met Batman's eyes. "Did you _really_ kill Rachel's squeeze-_uh_?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Batman lunged for him, and in one vast step had covered the space between them. He threw Joker against the side of the car.

"_Ooh_," he groaned, "I like that. It all feels so _familiar_. Gonna rough me up a little bit like last time?"

Batman snarled at him, about to press his gauntlets against the Joker's throat when an ear-splitting shot rang out. For a moment, they were both confused, but then Batman blinked, and the Joker watched as the caped crusader crumpled to the snow before his very eyes.

The Joker had been so distracted by Batman he hadn't noticed that the snowfall had lessened, and when his eyes met the dark figure's standing only yards away, he growled, his eyes ablaze as he reached for his knife.

Batman tried to lift himself off the ground as Black Mask approached. Blood was already pooling around his midsection, and he gripped it weakly, suddenly dizzy and hot.

"You fool!" the Joker roared to Black Mask.

"I told you I was going to take him down a notch," Black Mask said calmly, coming ever closer.

Before Black Mask could reach them, the Joker sidestepped Batman, and deftly reached for his gun, shooting Black Mask in the hip. It was nearly in the exact spot where Black Mask had shot Batman.

"Then let me take _you_ down a notch, you arrogant son of a bitch." As Black Mask crumpled to the snow, the Joker laughed, even though he was far from the laughing mood. He cast a glance towards Batman where he was still lying in the snow, his black cape draped in white flakes of snow. He felt his fury growing, his blood beginning to boil like fire in his veins.

Black Mask, however, wasn't about to go down without a proper fight. The Joker circled him in the snow, looking down at him in disgust. "You are so _below_ me," he heard himself saying. "You thought we were equals?" He snorted, kicking the man sharply in his bloodied ribs. Black Mask fell back into the snow with a grunt. The Joker grimaced, placing his boot over Black Mask's head and pushing it further into the ground. "I oughtta crush your skull right here and bury the leftover ashes in the snow."

Snarling, Black Mask suddenly grabbed the Joker's ankle, and, with surprising strength, was able to force him off balance and he toppled to the snow.

Not far off, the sound of police sirens reached their ears, and they both paused to catch their breath, listening as the sirens approached.

Without warning, Black Mask's visage suddenly flooded the Joker's vision, and he had little time to react when the large man made to swing at his jaw, his fist colliding against it with brute force. In turn, the Joker grabbed him by the neck before he could swing again, his gloved fingers seeking purchase in the warm flesh there and squeezing tight. He rolled them over and straddled Black Mask's waist, about to rip his fleshy, burnt skull to shreds.

He paused though when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move to his right. He looked to the spot to where Batman had been shot only to see blood-stained snow. Then, staggering up the road towards the warehouse, the Joker saw him.

_No . . . . _

The police sirens were getting louder, louder, but the Joker didn't hear any of it. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion now. Somewhere, policemen were approaching on foot, brandishing machine guns and yelling something he couldn't make out. The Joker scrambled off of Black Mask, his only intent to stop Batman from reaching the warehouse. He wasn't about to let his efforts be wasted.

Then, it happened.

Amidst the sirens, the chaos of the police force, and the shouts . . . the city exploded.

The detonators went off right on time, just as the Joker had planned, causing an explosion so powerful it knocked everyone off their feet and deafening their ears.

When he opened his eyes, orange flames licking the gray sky flooded his vision. He could hear nothing, only seeing the flames and black smoke in every direction he turned. Something wet trickled from his ears down the side of his neck. It took him a moment to realize it was blood.

When he lifted his head from the snow, everything was burning. Fire blazed wildly in the distance, flames dancing across the gray, snowy skyline, devouring everything in its path as large, black billows of smoke rose towards the sky. It was _beautiful_—like nothing he could have ever dreamed—watching his favorite city burn to ashes, knowing that _he_ had caused it all. _He _had been the one toburn the city to the ground—and everyone had been powerless to stop him.

Perhaps it hadn't been in his original plans, but the arrival of Jacob had been too perfect to ignore, and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity to use such resources when they so arrived.

When the cops gunned him to the ground, he didn't put up a fight, and he couldn't hear them. He could only see the shapes of their mouths moving, yelling at him as they grabbed his wrists and forced them behind his back to be handcuffed.

And he laughed through it all, reveling in the destruction and chaos around him, the blazing fire and the feeling of sheer _panic_. Chaos had never tasted so mouth-watering.

He licked his lips and searched for Batman as the officers pulled him to his feet, wanting to see the caped crusader one last time before they locked him up again. But everywhere he looked, the Dark Knight was nowhere to be found. Black Mask was there, bleeding in the snow and vainly trying to fight off the GPD, but Batman had escaped.

The two officers leading him to the police cruiser held him roughly by either arm, yelling at him above the fray, yet he still could hear nothing. It wasn't until her voice—Taylor's hysterical, high-pitched screams—that he was able to register sound again. He heard her scream and instinctively craned his neck to find her. She was stumbling out of the wrecked car, racing towards him through the snow, covered in blood as tears streaming down her face and crying his name over and over again.

The officers forced the Joker into the back of a cruiser as Taylor let out a blood-curdling scream, reaching him just in time to almost get her fingers caught in the door as the officer shut it. She clawed in vain at the windows, screaming, as the Joker _laughed_, smiling even as his side ached for him to stop and blood gushed freely from his wound.

Someone reached for Taylor, prying her away from the window, but she fought hard, kicking her legs, crying for him, for _the Joker_, to save her, to rescue her.

And all the while he laughed, cackling breathlessly as he watched her being dragged away in a screaming fit of panic.

Her screamed echoed in his mind for _days _after.

The Joker though, felt satisfied. Now that he knew Batman hadn't hung up the cape for good, he confident they could easily resume their game again, just like old times.

And soon, when he got out of this dump, he would rebuild the city he had so beautifully destroyed. Gotham would be _revived _in the likes of which it had never seen, and everything would run just. Like. _Clockwor__k__._

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ My friends, it is with great pleasure that after four long years, I finally end this wonderful journey. Thank you for fueling my passion for this story and for this fandom. Without you all, I never would have pursued writing like I have. You have my deepest and utmost respect as well as my thanks. Also, any final comments you may have regarding the overall story would be _greatly_ appreciated._

_Despite having told some of you I would __**never**__ do this, I've had a change of heart, and thus only one more thing to say: _

_I've written a sequel. _


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